Wait Till I Get My Money Right
by AquaRock
Summary: There ain't no rest for the wicked...or the lawful. Right after the Night Howler incident, Judy and Nick are thrust into a case involving a deadly crime syndicate growing throughout Zootopia. Meanwhile, a young opportunist discovers that his severed ties are putting a halt on his monetary pursuits. He embarks on a quest to achieve the American Dream by any means necessary.
1. Chapter 1: Dolla Dolla Bill, Y'all

Recent times had been hectic, to say the least, in Zootopia. There were two mayoral changes within a month, the previous mayors both being involved in political conspiracies. The ZPD was placed under public scrutiny after a press conference with Her Eloquence, Judy Hopps, who didn't seem to learn how to get facts straight before spewing nonsense on live TV. Then, word spread about how Her Eloquence resigned from the force, despite being heralded as a heroine throughout the city. Next, after resigning, she and her low-key boyfriend Nick Wilde truly solved the mystery involving predators going ham and tearing up wherever they went. And to top it all off, apparently the ZPD was accepting foxes into their units now, as Wilde turned from a life of crime without a badge to a potential one _with_ a badge.

Since the biggest problem the city had seen in recent years had been extinguished, the denizens of Zootopia decided to launch a large-scale celebration at the local sports stadium. A social symbol like this was a beacon of hope for predators and a sign of relief for prey.

And a gold mine of opportunity for a specific criminal.

An orange tabby cat stood perched on a monument, getting an adequate view of downtown Zootopia. It was evening, just when the city was turning on its lights. The sky was pink as the sun was setting in the west. Despite it being in the latter part of the day, that didn't seem to improve the flow of traffic, where it seemed as though rush hour was every hour. The air smelled of smog and the atmosphere was filled with drivers yelling at each other over car horns.

 _I love dis place._

The tabby cocked his head northward and pulled a telescope from his hoodie pocket. He closed one eye and looked through the scope with the other. There it was; the First Bank of Zootopia, its front entrance dimly lit, practically inviting those of the tabby's profession to make a...withdrawal. And tonight was a great opportunity for him; with the huge celebration going down in the southern part of the city, security would have been emphasized there, which meant fewer officers to intervene with what was about to go down. Ironic, since he had a cop to thank for this.

It wasn't difficult to acquire this information; the city had been buzzing about the event weeks before that day. Posters were set up from corner to corner, advertising a special performance by pop singer Gazelle. The tabby could never understand how mammals would have been excited about that, but he reminded himself: Gazelle wasn't a star because of her singing.

He stuffed the scope back into his pocket and put on black gloves, a black cloth over his tail, and pulled his skull cap down, the cap doubling as a balaclava. He concealed his dark purple eyes with a pair of sunglasses. These clothes complemented the black hoodie, cargo pants, and foot pads to really give him a look of a cat burglar, in more ways than one.

He threw his hood over his head and trotted to the edge of the monument's rooftop. He looked down. It was at least a ten story fall to the ground. He mentally scoffed at the ridiculous height as he analyzed the distance between the building he was on and the next building. The latter was lower, so a horizontal jump mixed with downward gravity would have given him ample distance.

The tabby moved back, then got a running start towards the edge of the roof. He bounded to the other building, his arms up in his descent. He executed a forward roll as he landed on the other roof, then immediately resumed running. The next building was a bit higher up, so the tabby leapt onto an air conditioning unit to compensate for the added height. He kicked a foot up against a wall on his right, then sprung forward to reach the next building.

He was about a block away from his destination when his ear twitched. Aside from the hardly-executed tonal pitches from Zootopia's pop icon and four-on-the-floor beats from down the city, he heard a sound that sent chills to criminals across the world: police sirens. It was doubtful that someone called the fuzz on him for suspicious activity while on city rooftops; people rarely looked up in this city. He followed the sound of sirens until he found a collection of ZPD police cruisers speeding southward. Further investigation revealed that the cruisers were heading towards the stadium. It appeared serious; at least six or eight cruisers were surrounding the perimeter of the stadium.

Whatever was going on there, it was only helping out the tabby in more ways than one. The stadium incident would shift more police attention there than to what was about to happen a few miles north. Fate certainly seemed to be on his side that day.

The tabby jumped from building to building until he reached the edge of the block. The bank was set up right in front of a three-way intersection. From where he was, the tabby needed to cross a street to reach the bank. One would have thought he needed to descend to the ground and traverse a crosswalk in order to achieve this task.

He would have. If he was a chump.

He eyed a telephone pole near the building he was on and made a small hop towards it. He landed on the pole with perfect balance, his arms extended out to the sides to maintain it. He scanned the street below him. Nobody was aware of his presence. He nodded before lightly stepping onto the telephone wire, testing its strength. The wire hardly bent under his weight. He jogged across the wire like a trapeze artist on a tightrope, maintaining superb balance.

The wire led to the bank's rooftop. The tabby walked up to a large vent set up at about chest level. The grating was nailed shut. He reached into his backpack and produced a hydraulic spreader. He inserted the spreader between the grating and the vent, then pulled the handles away from each other. The grating came right off. He grabbed the grating before it hit the ground and gently set it on the rooftop, where it would look as though it fell on its own.

He looked inside the dark vent, aided by his feline ability of night vision. As confirmed before, there wasn't a fan to obstruct his path. Then he climbed into the vent feet first. The vent curved downward, so he used his hands and feet to slow his slippery descent further into the bank's ventilation system. He reached a flat part of the shaft, silently stepping onto it and lying prone. The shaft was too small to stand or crouch in.

The ventilation system was a nearly impassable labyrinth for someone unfamiliar with it. Fortunate for the tabby, he had gotten his hands on blueprints for the system. He knew the quickest path not blocked by a fan was only a few hallways away from the vault.

Left. Right. Right. Left. The grating was the only thing standing between the tabby and the hallway. From this point he could see an office of some sort. No personnel were inside. He took out his spreader and opened the grating as silently as he could. He pushed himself out of the shaft and landed on the carpet with a silent roll. He had taken out his pistol, a .45 caliber Glock 30 fitted with a suppressor, during his descent. Crouching, he swept the room, bringing his pistol around. He kept the gun up as he exited the office.

The office's exit led to a hallway. He turned left, moving quickly, yet stealthily. He expected guards to be around someplace, but the absence of them wouldn't have been surprising. It had been years since somebody last tried to rob a bank, and the longer an organization went without incident, the more lax the security became, and the easier it was to grab the loot.

He went through two more hallways without incident. The vault was just around the corner. The tabby looked to his left and right to ascertain once again that he was in the clear. He clicked a button on the side of his shades. Nothing looked out of the ordinary when he looked at the circular vault. No infrared lasers. They were making this too easy, he thought.

He stepped to the vault and looked at the numeric keypad beside it. He grabbed a flashlight that shone blue instead of white. With this, he detected the four most commonly used numbers on the keypad. If the guards were smart, they would have changed the codes more often. The highest amount of oils were found on the "3" key, followed by the "4" key, then the "1" key, and the "6" key. The tabby tapped in the code "3416." The keypad beeped twice, and the red bar over the LCD screen turned green.

The mechanism within the vault clicked. The tabby turned the large metallic knob and opened the vault. Behind the balaclava he produced a wicked grin, anticipating a large take awaiting him on the other side.

Alas, there was nothing. The shelves were completely clean. If one were to look at it, one wouldn't have thought there was money in there at all. Somebody had come in here and gathered every last cent. The tabby didn't know if it was one person or a team of people who got in and took the dough. What he _did_ know was that if...no, _when_ he found the party responsible for stealing the money first, somebody was going to catch some hands!

Cursing to himself, he closed the door and headed back the way he came in. Then the lights shot back on, followed by a shrill bell alarm. How did he get discovered? He entered the right code and everything! As far as he knew, there were no guards around who could have saw him! He had no time to wonder as he heard multiple footsteps coming up the stairs toward the vault.

He ran to the nearest window and held his pistol by the barrel. He shattered the window and leapt out. In his short descent, he did a forward somersault before landing in an alleyway. He made no hesitation to run to the nearest fire escape ladder and climb up to a rooftop. He didn't stop until the bank was hardly within his view.

When he was in the east side of the neighborhood, where crime ran more rampantly, he took off his extra equipment and angrily stuffed them into his bag, which should have been filled with money instead of clothes. Everything had gone according to plan! Lower security, all the equipment he'd brought, and he'd even gone to a fuse box to deactivate cameras at one point! Even so, someone had tripped the alarm right after he discovered that somebody else got the goods. He took back what he said about fate being on his side. The only good thing that happened to him was that he was never seen, but that didn't mean he ran off with any green!

He was still shaking his head in disbelief as he took a fire escape down into an alleyway close to his home. An early retirement was _just_ in his reach, and somebody had taken it away from him. The unknown burglar was a true professional, completely avoiding the guards and leaving no trace of his or her take. He or she had a similar modus operandi compared to the tabby's; aside from avoiding guards whenever possible, the burglar closed the vault door and left, so that the empty vault wouldn't have been discovered until morning. If the burglar and the tabby were more alike than that, the burglar would have lain low for a couple days to let the heat die down, while spending money conservatively so as to not raise suspicion.

 _That still shoulda been me!_ thought the tabby as he opened his door. Instead of luxury and relaxation, the tabby could foresee ice cream binging and grumpiness in his near future. He slammed the door behind him.

 **. . .**

 **Meanwhile...**

Concerts were never Nick Wilde's cup of tea. He had recently come from a life of trick artistry and deception, which usually involved remaining inconspicuous. This was the complete opposite. People were yelling in excitement over even louder music as Gazelle performed all her hit songs. All the mammals were having the time of their lives, dancing their hearts out and forgetting all of the troubles that had recently arisen.

However, he certainly wouldn't have opted the current situation as a way to crash a concert. He walked down a hallway near the exterior of the stadium with Judy at his side and Officer Fangmeyer leading the way to the crime scene.

The tigress led the duo to a men's bathroom. She grabbed a few blue stockings and gloves and tossed them to Nick and Judy, telling them to put them on. The two felt severely underdressed compared to the other officers; while they were dressed in plain clothes, other officers were still dressed in their uniforms. The two had the night off due to the celebration.

Fangmeyer maneuvered around the yellow police tape and opened the door and let the other two in. Judy gasped when she saw what was inside: a hyena and a coyote lay dead on opposite ends of the room, a series of bloody holes in both of their chests. The two victims' eyes were open, yet unseeing. A wolf officer was taking pictures of the scene as they walked in.

"So, what have we got, Fangmeyer?" asked Nick, breaking the tense silence.

"Looks to me like a double murder, possibly starting off as a standoff. Both suspects were found with guns in their hands. They were sporting colors of opposing gangs in the south side of the Savannah District."

"Any witnesses?" Judy asked, her voice quavering.

"Only one. An elephant allegedly came in here after this shootout occurred."

"Only one witness?" Nick asked. He peeked at the guns in the suspects' hands. "The weapons don't have silencers. Wouldn't somebody have heard gunshots from here?"

"It's difficult to hear anything when you're listening to the concert," Judy pointed out.

"But there was nobody near the bathroom when the crime occurred?"

Fangmeyer shook her head. "No one, from what we've gathered."

Nick brought a hand to his chin, looking at the cadavers. "I find it hard to believe that gangsters would start something like this in a stadium bathroom."

Fangmeyer chuckled. "What, gangsters can't be fans of Gazelle?"

"There's more to it than that. If gangsters love anything more than drugs or, shall we say, comradeship with the opposite sex, it's attention. One of a gangster's fatal flaws is that he won't do anything rash unless it's within a huge public spectrum. They _love_ having an audience. If there were no eyewitnesses, I'd wager the chance of something fatal between the two would have been lowered. On another note, if they acted confrontational to each other, it's more likely to have been with fists than bullets. The security of this place was too good to let someone with a weapon through," Nick concluded.

"Funny you should say that. Two cops were knocked unconscious at the east entrance," said Fangmeyer.

"Did they remember anything when they came to?" asked Judy before shifting over to one of the stalls.

"Nothing. One minute, they were standing in their posts, and the next, all they saw was black," replied Fangmeyer.

"Completely unseen...This seems too advanced for regular miscreants. Something bigger is at hand." Nick perused the bodies once more before asking, "You found anything in there, Carrots?"

"Nothing here, except...a bullet casing?" Judy emerged from the stall, holding said object in her fingers. "It's not much, but what's it doing in the stall?"

"Maybe it rolled there?" suggested Fangmeyer. Nick walked to where the hyena was, where the stalls were to the left of him. He made a finger gun gesture and aimed at the coyote on the other side of the room, flicking his finger up in imitation of a gunshot. Guns discharged their casings on the right, given that most people were right handed. He looked to the ground in his right, and surely enough, all of the casings were there. He walked over to the coyote and turned around, facing the dead hyena. He repeated the gesture and looked to the right. All of the casings were there as well.

He double checked the weapons. They were two different models of pistol. Two different models potentially meant two different styles of casings. He looked at the pile near the coyote, then the one near the hyena. Surely enough, there _were_ different casing styles.

"Lemme see that casing, Carrots," Nick said. Judy obliged. The casing looked like the ones near the coyote. Currently, there were six casings near the coyote, but seven bullet holes in the hyena.

"What are you thinking, Nick?" asked Judy.

"I'm thinking there is a _lot_ more to this case than what we may have thought, thanks to this rogue casing."

"Well, what does _that_ tell us?" said Fangmeyer.

"Look at the piles of casings near the bodies. All of them seem really bunched together, which is strange."

"If the guns were shot in the same place, wouldn't that make sense?" said Judy.

"Even then, the casings would be further apart. I can't shake the feeling that somebody was trying to manipulate the crime scene. Where did you find the rogue casing, Carrots?"

"It was behind the toilet."

Nick snapped his fingers, a smug grin across his face. "It all makes sense now. I think there was a third person in the bathroom when the incident occurred."

Fangmeyer was scribbling notes on a pad when she said, "Explain yourself."

"A third person walks in, carrying two guns akimbo, and shoots the two gangsters inside. They want to pin the murders on the victims, so they move the casings to where they would make the most sense. However, when reforming the piles, they missed one of the casings, which flew behind the toilet. Now, if I was in this person's shoes, I'd want to get the heck out of here as soon as possible. With that in mind, the criminal walks out before there's an eyewitness."

Fangmeyer raised an eyebrow. "That sounds a bit convoluted."

"Well, it makes about as much sense as gangsters having a shootout during a Gazelle concert," Nick defended.

"That actually makes some sense," Judy pointed out. "Assuming the guy's holding the guns akimbo," then the rabbit walked near the entrance and stretched two arms out, aiming finger guns at the victims, "his left gun would have discharged the casing towards the stall, where one of the casings landed out of sight. Now for motive...?" She looked to Nick.

The grin vanished from Nick's countenance. "Yeeeah, haven't gotten that far yet."

The officers' transceivers crackled as a transmission came through: "Ten twenty B at the First Bank. Investigative team, respond."

"A murder and a bank robbery, all in the same night?" Judy asked.

"Think they're connected?" Nick said, half-joking. "Well, Fangmeyer, thanks for the invite, and, uh, give us an update if anything turns up."

The officer wasn't amused. "I'll keep that in mind."

Nick and Judy tossed their gloves in a trash can as they walked to their police cruiser. headed for the next crime scene. They walked through a gauntlet of police officers interrogating citizens who attended the concert. Nick eyed an elephant wearing a few shock blankets as a paramedic tried to calm him down. The fox noticed the rabbit's incredulous look and addressed her about it.

"What?" he said with a laugh.

"You're acting like you've been at this for years," Judy said, rolling her eyes.

"Since I was 12, remember?"

"I mean, doing cop work. The other officers aren't exactly too keen on having you on board."

"Why? I'm good at what I do!" Nick opened the passenger door, Judy the driver door.

"I'm not saying that you're not. But given your...background, per se, it's probably damaging to people's egos. Just _try_ not to get a big head before this is over."

"Heh-heh-heh, all right, I'll try." He held up three fingers. "Ranger Scout's honor."

Judy smiled in spite of herself as she turned on the ignition. "You are unbelievable."


	2. Chapter 2: It's All About the Benjamins

**Chapter 2: It's All About the Benjamins**

A mark of a true officer of the law was humility. Judy would have cited that attribute to her beginnings in Bunnyburrow. Even though she had nearly three hundred siblings, there was still a lot of work to be done on the family farm. She was taught the value of hard work and saw what good could come from it. Without such origins, she doubted that she would have made it to where she was today.

It was anything but easy to achieve what she did. The first few weeks in the police academy had shattered any delusions that police work would have been simple. The thought of giving up had crossed her mind more times than she cared to count. Over time, however, her term at the academy had further forged her will and dedication to the work.

It wasn't a bad thing to be totally dedicated to one's work. It helped one enjoy his or her profession to an extent. From day one, she had made it clear to the entire precinct that her job came before anything else. She got some positive recognition for her dutiful vigilance, getting "Employee of the Month" for her role in resolving the Night Howler incident. But outside of the incident, "dedicated" was hardly a word her fellow cops used to describe her.

"Can't keep away from work, can ya, Hopps?" commented Delgato upon noticing Judy and Nick outside the bank.

"If crime doesn't rest, why should we?" answered Judy with a straight face.

"Spoken like a true workaholic," said Nick. Judy could practically hear the fox's eyes roll with statement.

The duo walked past the wall of journalists crowding around the perimeter of the police tape and approached the entrance of the bank, eyeing a cape buffalo in between two pillars talking to a man in a suit. Judy guessed that it was the owner of the bank in question. The middle-aged goat looked almost nauseated with anxiety as he discussed the recent crime with the chief of police.

"...we'll make sure to find the perpetrators responsible for this," she'd heard the chief say, mostly to get the goat away from him. Even she knew the buffalo could only take so much quavering from one mammal. Bogo turned his head to the two rookies. "Hopps. Wilde."

"Chief," the two said in unison. Judy proceeded with, "What have we found?"

"This robbery was done by true professionals. Not a single trace was left when the remainder of the precinct was called here. All that was gathered was that one guard had found his colleagues on the floor, unconscious."

"Knocked out...It's the same MO as the stadium incident," commented Nick. "So, what did they use? Tranquilizer darts? Tasers?"

"None such luck. Nothing was found on the guards when we found them. The perpetrator is assumed to have used indirect confrontation with the guards."

"And I'm assuming the guards were all larger mammals?" Judy asked.

Bogo nodded. "Nobody smaller than a timber wolf works for bank security here."

"So the perp's likely to have been about as big as one, if not bigger." concluded Nick. "What about the take? How much did they steal?"

"Everything. The CEO claims there was upwards of five point eight million inside the vault. We looked inside, and we found it difficult to believe him. Completely empty."

"Whoever this was, they meant business," Nick commented. "Did the cameras catch anything?"

"The guilty party deactivated them at the fusebox. The footage we got before the incident showed nothing related to the robbery."

"Was there anything else you found?" Judy went on.

"One officer reported a fallen ventilation grate in a second floor office at B wing. Which, ironically, is the reason we needed you here, Hopps."

Judy's ears lowered slightly. "You need me to go in and check it out?"

"What a wonderful idea," said Bogo, a smile playing across his lips.

Judy led Nick to the office to which Bogo referred. Officer Grizzoli was there, his dark blue uniform sticking out from his bright grey fur.

"Thank God you're here, Judy. We need someone to get into the vent," said the officer, flipping a flashlight in his hand. "Here, you might need this."

Judy took the flashlight and bounded from the desk to the open shaft. The light coming from the lit rooms was enough for her to get around. The real challenge was finding out where a possible intruder could have come in...or escaped. Every turn, it seemed, led to a fan. Nothing could have come in through those ways, unless the intruder was a resident of Little Rodentia. Even yet...no, _his_ workers were polar bears, much too big for an operation like this.

She found turns she hadn't taken before and eventually found a straight incline in the ventilation system. Judy wagered that the height was about five feet. She could feel a current coming in from the top. She leapt to the wall opposite to the exit, then jumped to the top. From there, she couldn't see a grating established. A few steps forward, and she saw the grating lying on the rooftop.

Judy pressed a button on her transceiver. "Nick, you there?"

"Loud and clear, Carrots."

"The shaft leads to the rooftop. The grating was removed up here."

"So, we're dealing with a cat burglar, huh? In a manner of speaking, of course. So, did they come in or out that way?"

"I had to jump off the walls to where I am now, so it makes more sense to have entered through here."

"Well, we know the person's point of entry now. Strong work, Carrots. Let's break it down to the chief."

 **. . .**

Judy and Nick had explained their findings in the bank and the stadium to Chief Bogo.

"Was there literally nothing else found?" Nick asked the chief.

"Nothing. No fingerprints, no pawprints, no physical description. We're dealing with professionals here," Bogo responded.

"Well, even criminals aren't perfect. We're bound to find something sooner or later," Judy commented.

"It's strange to hear of this on the same night as a murder in the stadium. No eyewitnesses, no description of the perpetrators, knocked out guards...They _do_ seem linked. But the motive is still unclear for the murders. Members of the two biggest gangs in the Savannah District, both gunned down in a bathroom. If it was a third person, who would it be, and why?"

"Random act of vigilantism?" Judy proposed.

Bogo huffed. "That'd be giving the citizens too much credit. These are interesting developments you two found. I'll be sure to have the research team consider everything you've discovered." He brought his transceiver to his face. "Squad A, set up a plainclothes patrol in Savannah Central."

"Ten four, Chief," said the person on the other line.

"Squad B, I need a patrol in Tundratown."

"You got it."

"Squad C, Rainforest District."

"Yes, chief."

"And you two," Bogo said, lowering his transceiver and looking at the duo. He appeared to struggle with specific demands before saying, "Do what you do best."

"I always do, Chief," said Nick, adjusting his tie before about-facing.

Judy scowled at him. "We'll keep you posted, sir," she addressed Bogo before heading to her cruiser.

"So, any ideas, Carrots?" Nick asked before heading into the passenger seat.

"We're kinda gridlocked right now, with no leads. A murder and a bank robbery happening all in the same night...I can only think of one person who could have any experience with this," answered Judy.

"Well, who?"

Judy had a mischievous look on her face as she started the cruiser. "An old friend of ours. Hope you don't mind the cold."

"Who are you talking...Oh, no."

The rabbit chuckled as she pulled the cruiser out from the bank. "Do you have a better idea?"

"No, and that's why I'm despairing." The confidence fell from his countenance as he considered

Judy wouldn't have described herself as sadistic, but it was a guilty pleasure of hers to see Nick fidget in his seat as they headed for Tundratown. The fox's reaction wasn't unwarranted, however; he was certainly fortunate to have her as a partner.

 **. . .**

 **Meanwhile...**

It was bad enough that a wealthy life had just slipped past the tabby's fingers. But after getting home, he realized that he was out of ice cream. He couldn't even drown his troubles with a tall glass of orange juice. Misfortunes were simply stacking against him that night. To add to that, his rent was due first thing in the morning. He was _really_ looking forward to erasing rent as a concern for him for heaven knew how long. So, with the botched heist attempt, he needed to resort to smaller scale crime.

He was dressed in a purple jacket that matched his eyes. His tail slowly moved behind him as he scanned the grimier side of Savannah Central from up high, enveloped in the dark sky. Fur-covered disease carriers were posted on every other corner, but others knew them as streetwalkers. The honking that sounded down here at this hour wasn't from jaywalkers or bad drivers, though there were still plenty of them around. Instead, it was essentially a mating call for said streetwalkers. The tabby shook his head. To him, it was just money wasted, and the risk far outweighed the reward.

To the south, he witnessed a confrontation involving members of a street gang and one unfortunate beaver who had taken a wrong turn. The beaver was then surrounded by much larger mammals, ranging from wolves to bears. A lion had knocked the beaver down with a front kick, and the rest of the gangsters began stomping the absolute paste out of him. The tabby watched with less criticality; he used to do the same sort of thing not too long ago.

He locked his vision on a leopard wearing a beige trench coat, down at the tabby's right. The leopard kept walking forward, eventually leaving the tabby's line of sight. The tabby moved back a couple feet and jumped to a nearby building, regaining his view on the leopard. Since the other mammal was a feline as well, the leopard had no trouble traversing the dark alleyways of the East Side. The tabby slowly walked across the rooftop, the extra height giving him an advantage in keeping up with the leopard.

Then the leopard turned right, moving to a lit area of the alley. The tabby stood at the edge of the rooftop and took out his scope. From there, he saw the leopard approach a wombat, dressed in an oversized hoodie. The two mammals performed an elaborate handshake, either to show off or to confirm that the right personnel were present. The wombat's mouth moved, but the tabby was too far away to hear him. The leopard nodded, then pulled something out of his pocket. The tabby turned a knob on the scope to zoom in on what the object was. It was a bag full of white powder. The tabby produced a devilish grin as he watched the situation progress. _So, you be flippin' the cokey, huh? You jest got marked._

The wombat pulled a fat wad of cash, the mammals trading objects. They performed a farewell dap greeting and went their separate ways. The tabby stashed his scope and vigilantly watched the leopard go back the way he came. Now the only thing left to do was to make his move when the time was right.

 _No witnesses, no retaliation_ , he heard a voice resonate in his head.

If the tabby was correct, the mark would have taken the same turns as when he got to the deal spot, which meant that he didn't have to move far. He jumped back to the initial building, pulling himself up on the roof in the process, and fell to a lower rooftop, about two stories up from the ground. He lay prone in the middle of the rooftop so as to remain invisible to the mark. The tabby waited for about a minute before the leopard was nearby. He got up and crouched, stealing towards the edge of the rooftop.

He was right above the mark. This was his chance. He leapt from the rooftop, pouncing towards the leopard. While falling, he grabbed the back of the mark's head and used his momentum to push the mark onto the ground. When the tabby landed, he had slammed the mark's forehead onto the cement, knocking him out.

The tabby extracted the wad of cash from the mark's pocket and stuffed it into his own pocket. Then he looked at the knocked out leopard with faux sympathy. Considering other ways this could have gone down, the tabby felt that he did the mark a favor. No gun to the back, no direct confrontation, just a feeling of accomplishment before being put to sleep. The mark didn't have to feel fear or tension throughout the entire situation. And it benefited the tabby because it was an easy way to get the mark's cash. The mark didn't fight back, call for help, or get a glimpse of his face. Nobody had to die. The leopard would just wake up tomorrow, which would end up being a really bad day for him.

 _No witnesses, no retaliation_ , he heard the voice say again. It was practically thief dogma to him. He ascertained the former part by jumping up from a dumpster and onto the lower building where he made his attack. He moved a few blocks west, taking a telephone wire across another street, before resting on top of a local restaurant. He sat on an air conditioning unit and took out the money from his pocket.

 _Fifty, hunnid, hunnid fifty_ , he counted in his head. There were eight bills in his hand. _Four hunnid bones? Oldboy musta been pushin' that good base._ With this money, he had just enough money to cover the rent for the month.

His phone vibrated once in his cargo pocket. He opened the text.

 _Have work for you if you need dinero. ¿Interesado?_

It was from the tabby's friend and associate Manny. The line of work that Manny led was much riskier than sneaking around, yet yielded much higher rewards than sticking people up for chump change or robbing stores. Plus, the more the tabby earned now, the less he had to work later.

 _im wit it. usual spot?_

 _Sí. On tight schedule. 5 minutos to get here._

The tabby raised an eyebrow at his phone. It seemed strange for Manny to invite him on a business excursion and set him on such a strict timeline. It didn't matter too much, however. His knowledge of the neighborhood was extensive enough for him to utilize shortcuts and rooftops that would take him to his destination the quickest way possible.

He made it to an old, structurally unsound warehouse further east in Savannah Central. It was a perfect meeting spot for the tabby and his friend; from the outside, it looked as if the ceiling would collapse at any minute, storage businesses had stopped using it decades ago, and the entire building had an inexplicable air of foreboding to normal people who looked at it.

The tabby found a spotted hyena leaning on the hood of a red SUV, looking at a watch. The hyena was dressed in a blue jacket, white dress shirt, blue pants and black tie, truly achieving the "businessman" look. At least he'd fit in with the dudes in the business district downtown. A black SUV was parked nearby.

The tabby approached the hyena and initiated a dap greeting, this one much more simple than the one done by the tabby's mark. Then the tabby asked, "So, what's the haps on the deal?"

"Dos contactos grandes within one week. One shipment of hardware is going to Tundratown," said Manny, tapping the red SUV upon which he was leaning, "the other to Rainforest District. The Tundratown contact reached out to me a few days ago. Then, someone from the Rainforest District contacted me a few minutes ago. I would have called you earlier if I had more materials by then."

"So what's the issue?"

"The contacts, strangely, asked for their shipments at the same time, nueve menos cuarto. I cannot be in two places at the same time."

"I see whatchu sayin'." It seemed logical to cancel one in order to meet the other, but if the contacts were as big as Manny said they were, it didn't seem wise to reject either of them. "So, where ya need me ta go?"

"Since I pulled in a favor on short notice, I'll let you pick your destination."

The tabby stroked his chin as he considered the routes. The way to Tundratown was closer, but the roads would have been much slicker once he reached the district. The way to the Rainforest District was longer, but had less traffic going there. However, finding a place in the district would have proven difficult.

"I'm goin' ta T-town. You know the RD betta than I do," the tabby decided. Manny produced a key from his right pocket and tossed it to the tabby.

"Gracias for taking the job. The address is in the sun visor. Half the profit acquired for the shipment is yours. And in case the contact's men ask you for a password, tell them, 'The warm sun is dangerous for the cold-blooded.'"

The tabby laughed through his nose. "Aight, Manny. Deuces." He stepped into the red SUV and put the key into the ignition. Since Manny had the longer distance to travel, he let the hyena move first; it would have raised more suspicion if two vehicles left an abandoned warehousse at the same time, through the same way. Before heading for the rear exit, he plugged in an auxiliary cord into his phone. He opened his music player and tapped on one of the songs. The subwoofers boomed in a loud hip hop song playing from his phone. The tabby rapped along as he drove from the warehouse:

" _Every season I'm out, I'm hot without a reasonable doubt,_  
 _Raps in a pleasin' amount, and I'm squeezin' 'em out,_  
 _All this beef is about increasin' ya clout,_  
 _Hot rhymes? I got a decent amount, and I'm leasin' 'em out..."_

 **. . .**

 **Meanwhile...**

A well-dressed polar bear poured ice-cold water into two cups bearing an elegant "B" design, then carried the cups on a plate to the two guests inside his boss's office. A fox and a rabbit took the cups and thanked him.

Judy still couldn't get used to the aesthetics of that office. The place was dimly lit, either for atmospheric purposes or that bright light was bothersome to the animals inside. It also felt quite empty, holding nothing but the desk upon which an arctic shrew sat with his small chair, her and her partner, and the polar bears standing vigilantly, watchful of any threat to their boss.

Oh, and the picture of the shrew's grandmother, who was allegedly buried in a skunk-butt rug.

"Bank robbery downtown, huh?" said the shrew, stroking a whisker. The shrew was attired in a tuxedo and had quite prominent eyebrows, so big that one couldn't clearly see his eyes. "It is rare to hear of something like that executed so cleanly. And you said it was the First Bank?" Judy gave a solemn nod. "Unfortunate. I have a few shares in that bank. Those I work with may need that money..."

"Have you heard of anything strange recently? Any shifty characters moving around, strange occurrences?" Nick asked. His voice sounded modulated enough, but his hand trembled as he brought the cup to his mouth.

The shrew was silent, considering the question. "Some of my men saw a rather suspect-looking figure in the casino in Sahara Square." Both Judy and Nick's ears perked up at the sound of that.

"Can you describe him or her?" said Judy, pulling out a carrot-shaped pen and notepad.

"Male, jackal, last seen to be wearing a suit and sunglasses."

Judy pondered this as she scribbled notes onto the pad. Jackals typically didn't have problems with the heat in the district, so wearing a suit in that climate didn't seem too far out. "What was so suspicious of him?"

"Koslov said he couldn't help but feel that he was being watched while discussing business with someone there."

Judy finished writing down the shrew's description of the jackal, then said, "Mr. Big, you've been a tremendous help to us."

"Yeah, thanks a lot," added Nick, getting up a bit quickly, nearly spilling his drink.

"Anything to help those who have helped me." Mr. Big leaned back into his chair and smiled at the two.

Judy rose from her chair. "Guess we're off to the Sahara Square. Let's go, Nick."

 **. . .**

 **Meanwhile...**

The tabby kept many things hidden, from his past transgressions, to his current professions, to his pistol. It was necessary for a guy like him. However, there were few things he concealed more actively than his talent and inward passion for singing, especially when his jam started playing on the stereo.

 _"Starin' blankly ahead, just makin' my way, makin' a way through the crowd...DUH-NUH-NUH DUH-NUH-NUH DUH, and I need you, DUH-NUH-NUH DUH-NUH-NUH DUH, and I miss you, DUH-NUH-NUH DUH-NUH-NUH DUH, and now I wonder..."_

He was driving the SUV much more carefully in the middle of Tundratown. The snow wasn't quite as bad as he thought, and the roads were actually shoveled this time; nonetheless, this didn't account for his run-in with black ice a few minutes ago. Compared to the bustling area of Savannah Central, Tundratown seemed much emptier, with only a few buildings and houses appearing every mile. The tabby figured that it made for fewer hiding spots for carjackers and an easier time finding the contact's address.

The contact was stated to be some Mr. Big. According to what he'd heard on the streets, this Mr. Big was supposed to be an infamous crime boss known throughout the whole city-scratch that, the whole state. If it was true, the tabby could understand why he set up shop here. The whole place seemed isolated, disconnected from the rest of the city, seemingly unintruded by the hectic nature of downtown. Despite being on opposite ends of the city and on the climate spectrum, this place and the Rainforest District were quite similar.

He turned his music down as he approached what he suspected was the right address. He looked at the paper in the sun visor to confirm. This was the place. He saw a mansion enclosed by a fence, the front entrance being a gate guarded by polar bears dressed in black athletic trainers. Huh, so the boss wouldn't be meeting him personally? Fine with him. The tabby turned toward the fence until a polar bear raised a paw at him, telling him to stop. He then rolled down a window as another polar bear approached the driver door, crouching to look at the tabby.

"State your business, cat," said the polar bear, a thick Italian accent in his voice.

"Got a shipment for Mista Big," replied the tabby. "The 8:45 delivery?"

The polar bear squinted at him. "You are not the hyena we talked with."

"I'm a friend a' his. He had anotha shipment ta take care of, so he let me take the hardware."

The polar bear stared at him, unconvinced. "Password."

"The warm sun is dangerous for the cold-blooded."

The bear blinked, then nodded at his colleague. The tabby unlocked the trunk and walked to the back of the car, the two bears following him closely. He tried not to noticeably shiver in front of the two mobsters as he opened the trunk, revealing a chest. He undid the locks and opened the box, revealing an assortment of military-grade submachine guns and magazines. The tabby couldn't help but whistle in amazement; Manny had surely elevated his game since he started out. He began his business by peddling B-grade pistols and average sawed-off shotguns. But these? These were the real deal. He knew better than to ask how Manny got access to such high-quality weapons.

He heard low laughter from behind him. Apparently the bears were enamored with such top-notch weaponry. One of the bears reached out to grab one of the guns before the tabby quickly closed the chest.

"Not so fast, homeboy. What's good with the cash?"

One of the bears presented a suitcase and opened it, revealing a large sum of money. The tabby saw only Benjamins, entranced with his innate sense of avarice. He took the case, closed it, and tapped the chest inside the car. "The guns is yours. Pleasure doin' bidness wit y'all, gentlemen," said the tabby, a wide grin across his face. The bears took the chest and closed the trunk.

"Tell Mr. Salazar that we will contact him again," said one of the bears.

"Heh, you know this," said the tabby as he closed the driver door. When the gate closed behind the bears walking to the mansion, he stared lovingly at the suitcase in the passenger seat. He took out his phone and sent a text.

 _hd._ "Hardware delivered."

Manny responded with a thumbs-up emoji.

Well, the tabby may not have robbed the bank, but he still got an impressive amount of money before the night was over, even with the fifty percent cut. A myriad of possibilities flashed through his mind as he drove from the mansion, although they were thoughts wasted. There was only one thing he did when he pulled off big scores like this.

He would lounge at home, catching up on his stories and planning for another heist, with loads of ice cream and orange juice on deck.

* * *

 **All right, some thanks are in order.**

 **Firstly, I want to give a shoutout to Crystalfang's Tribal Pack for the review. To upload a new story and get a review within 24 hours is astounding to me. It means a lot to me that you have shown interest in my OC as well. I hope to have reached your expectations.**

 **Next, I want to thank the people who follow the story. It is humbling to know that people enjoy my writing so much to follow the continuation of this story. You guys are awesome and provide so much encouragement just from clicking the follow button.**

 **Here, I wanted to provide a little bit of a "slice of life" information for our favorite little protagonist, while giving an update on the duo's progress on the case. A bit slower than the last chapter, but it's a necessary evil, especially in the beginning.**


	3. Chapter 3: Jackpot

**Chapter 3: Jackpot**

It was a starry night in Sahara Square when Judy and Nick arrived. On one side of the road they were on was barren wasteland, sandy hills protruding from the ground. The other side led to the district's main street, with bright lights shining from the buildings within. In the center of the area was a large oasis, surrounded by a few leaning palm trees and having a fish fountain spitting water from its mouth.

The sidewalks for the main district were barely paved and almost identical to the sandy ground outside of the downtown area. Judy tried not to wince as she traversed the rather abrasive terrain in bare feet. It was a wonder how the non-hooved mammals around them walked on the hot, rough ground without even noticing it.

"So, what are we gonna do if we find this guy? Book him, take him to the precinct, question him?" Nick asked, breaking the contemplative silence.

"It'd be unwise, especially since we got this information from a...less than reputable source. It'll depend on how and where we find him, if we do."

The rabbit kept Mr. Big's description fresh in her mind: _Male, jackal, suit, and shades._ On their way to the casino further downtown, she'd found animals meeting the first two requirements: there was a homeless man wearing shabby desert clothes sleeping on a bench, with a beer bottle covered with part of a cardboard bag in his paw; a group of four young jackals exited a movie theater, enthusiastically discussing the film they had experienced. But none completely fit the description.

The tourist section at the east end of the city held a series of hotels and restaurants. Planted in the middle of it all was the Easy Ten Casino, with decorative playing chips and dice shining in the front of it with neon lights. The name of the place was written in fancy cursive lettering. Judy could especially hear the booming music resonating from within the establishment. It must have been the place.

They showed their ID's to the bouncer at the entrance and wiped their feet on a rug before entering. If Judy thought the outside was bright, it didn't hold a candle to the inside. The interior of the casino possessed a wide array of reds, whites, blacks, and yellows that would have instantly attracted those tired of the visual blandness of the sandy desert. Slot machines were stacked in rows on the left, with patrons occupying almost every one, electronic beeping accompanying the _click-click_ of the levers. On the right, a black timber wolf dressed in a tuxedo rolled a pair of dice on a craps table, with dressed up she-wolves on either side of him watching for the result of his roll. When the dice stopped rolling, animals around the table cheered boisterously, with the wolf putting his arms around the she-wolves and declaring with a British accent, "Drinks are on me, ladies!"

Nick was probably used to seeing this sort of thing, having grown up in the city and all, but it was all quite fascinating to Judy. She almost thought it would be fun to come here while off duty, just to get the full civilian experience of a casino. Then again, her salary said otherwise.

The two walked past a few otters spinning a fortune wheel and reached a restaurant area, taking their seats on barstools. A suited antelope approached them on the other side of the bar, wiping down a wine glass. His expression brightened at the sight of the fox and greeted him, "Nick!" He looked at Judy and said with a small bow, "Ms. Hopps. What brings you guys to the Easy Ten?"

"An investigation," Judy said carefully, wary of any potential criminals listening.

The antelope's expression shifted slightly. "I was afraid of that."

"We just have a few questions, sir, and we'll be on our way," Judy assured.

"Two glasses of gin, coming up, then," the antelope said with a bit more volume. He winked before crouching down under the bar.

"I...didn't order anything..." She turned to Nick, who still had his laid-back smile.

"Justin knows what he's doing," Nick clarified. "Think about it; it'd look kinda weird if we were here without ordering anything."

The antelope came back up with a bottle and two glasses, pouring clear spirits into them. Nick grasped his glass and motioned Judy to follow suit. He wasn't seriously telling her to drink while on the job, especially since she was the driver, was he?

 _Maybe it's to look the part._ She held the glass, hardly lifting it from the table.

"Now," Justin said in an undertone, "what do you need to know?"

"Have you or anyone you know seen anyone suspicious around here lately?" Judy inquired.

Justin looked to the side, as if in thought. "No, can't say as I have. All I know is that my boss has been acting weird lately. He's usually in a bad mood and gets red in the face every time something's wrong with the casino. Nowadays, he acts afraid, as if something's watching him that isn't really there."

 _Interesting._ Judy made a mental note and pressed on. "Has he said anything?"

"Hardly. When he's not cussing out his employees during a maintenance issue, he usually stays silent, holed up in his office in the back. Now, he's just silent."

"Is he here now?" Nick chanced.

"He left a few hours ago. He's a camel named Reese Burton, but I don't know where he lives. If I had to guess, I'd say he lives within the district or in Savannah District. Other than that, that's all I know."

"Was there a male jackal who'd come in here, wearing a suit and shades?" the fox continued.

"If there was, I didn't see him. A few jackals came to the bar yesterday, but none of them really fit the description."

Judy slowly nodded. "This information could give us a leg up in our investigation. Thank you for your cooperation, sir."

"Thanks for everything, Justin." Nick reached for his wallet when the antelope waved a hoof dismissively at him.

"No, no, it's on the house. Anything for you, Nick."

Judy had to hand it to the fox; knowing a lot of people in Zootopia certainly had its benefits. She knew that drinks from casinos weren't exactly a dime a dozen, even if one didn't drink any of it. She assumed Nick knew Justin from working with Mr. Big in the past.

They questioned other employees with similar results, all mentioning the peculiar behavior their boss exhibited. Nobody had seen their mammal of interest. When they made it back to their cruiser, Judy opened up the car's laptop and typed up a search query, entering Mr. Burton's name and species. A second later, his picture and address came up.

"Three-fifty-two Antler Drive, Sahara Square. Now the trick is finding it," Judy muttered as she typed the address on her GPS. She turned the key in the ignition and started the cruiser. She continued, "The angry boss ends up with his tail between his legs. This case is getting crazier every hour. What are you thinking it is?"

"I'm thinking either blackmail or extortion. My gut's telling me that it's the same group doing this, but I still can't pinpoint a purpose."

"Well, it's possible these same guys robbed a bank, and Mr. Burton's the owner of a casino. It's probably just a way to get more money," Judy pointed out. "And if he _is_ being blackmailed, knocking on the door won't do us any favors."

"Unless there was someone else who lived with him." Nick thumbed through a few options on the laptop. "Aha! Wife's name is Glynne Burton, lives at the same address. If we can't get to Reese directly, she's our next best lead."

"Worth a shot," Judy agreed. She pulled out of the lot and followed the directions as indicated by the GPS.

 **. . .**

 **Meanwhile...**

"...twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty." Having returned to the warehouse, the tabby counted the stacks of money from the briefcase he'd gotten from his delivery earlier. He counted half of the money received from Mr. Big's men. He put the take in his bag and left the rest in the suitcase. He looked up to Manny and gave a small laugh. "Sometimes I forget how much you get for this, bruh."

"Es magnifico, ¿no? Although, most dinero I get is for more hardware," said the hyena as he took the other briefcase and stashed it in his trunk.

The tabby's eyes widened as he realized something. "Oh, yeah, I been meanin' ta ask, who was the otha client who called in jest today?"

"I never got a nombre. If I get location and payment, no me importa who is buying."

"Don't ya think it's kinda odd that two clients said the same time on the same day?"

Manny shrugged. "I don't get paid to ask questions. If I knew you couldn't make it, I would have canceled one of the appointments. What makes you so inquisitivo?"

The entire situation seemed dangerously familiar, like a tactic the tabby had heard of years ago in the crime world. It felt as if someone was testing Manny's loyalty to his or her cause. The tabby would have liked to just shrug the instance off as two clients having similar senses of convenience, but he'd been in the game too long to be wholly complacent.

Even more so, if the tabby's suspicions were correct, then he wouldn't have gotten himself involved with the Mr. Big delivery. _Woke up this mornin'...hope ya got yo' self a gun..._

But he wouldn't worry Manny if he was wrong. "Nothin'. I'mma bounce. Hit me up if anythang else come up."

The hyena produced a lopsided grin akin to the tabby's. "Lo sabes."

They dapped each other up before the tabby left the warehouse. He took to the rooftops with extra spring in his step, certainly attributed to the extra weight in his backpack. A quarter mile away from his neighborhood, he looked down to the ground beneath him. It was at least a seven-story drop to the ground, and a four-story drop to the next-highest rooftop. He gracefully jumped up, then tilted his body forward to dive toward the next rooftop. As he landed, he curled his body up to roll on his back, immediately getting back onto his feet. He survived the fall without injury. He replicated those actions to reach the ground.

He stayed in the shadows as he approached his home. The tabby eventually found the back side of a humbly-sized brick house. He gave a once-over in his immediate environment, seeing no imminent threats. He shifted a brick near a rear door, revealing a numeric keypad. He reached into his pocket and put a glove over a paw, then entered a ten-digit passcode. At the last digit, he heard a low mechanical whirr from inside his house. The tabby opened the back door and went into his kitchen, turning on the lights.

The house inside had some vanities inside: an HD television was embedded in the wall, with the newest game console hooked up to it. A small sofa with a La-Z-Cat attachment stood in front of the television set, set atop a grey cotton rug. A glass coffee table was set up between the two aforementioned objects. There was a small kitchen area on the other side of the room, no wall separating it from the living room. From the back entrance he could see a hallway that led to the bathroom and bedrooms.

A row of light switches was beside the back entrance. He flipped the middle one, and a loud _click_ sounded throughout his house. He went into his bedroom. He eyed the various objects in his room: A twin-sized bed had purple covers in pure disarray; his closet was filled with hoodies of different colors for different purposes; a small, wooden dresser stood beside the bed, a picture of the tabby as a kitten and his father framed on top of it. The picture was torn on the right side. He opened a drawer and placed his gun inside, extra magazines sliding around in it. There was a large map of Zootopia pinned to the wall, which, after years of studying it, he knew like the back of his hand.

A cabinet taller than him stood in the corner. He walked toward it, set the briefcase at his feet, and opened the cabinet. It was a bunch of old clothes that he never bothered folding or wearing. He pushed some clothes out of the cabinet to reveal a hidden door within the base of the cabinet, protected by a lock on one side. He pulled a key from under his bed to unlock the door, which was hiding a safe with a combination lock with numbers ranging from one to 100. He turned the knob to seven different numbers before the safe opened up. The safe's door revealed another numeric keypad. The tabby entered another ten-digit code, separate from the one used to unlock his house. Yet another layer of the cabinet's security appeared as an LCD screen with a green line across it, slightly vibrating from the small, almost undetectable sounds around the room. In a sort of solemn voice, the tabby said, "Demetrius."

The bottom of the cabinet was now fully open, revealing all of his savings inside. The tabby opened up the briefcase, putting the money inside the cabinet. He never trusted banks, partially for a reason he was recently involved with. Breaking into his house seemed much too difficult for the common criminal, but even if _that_ feat was achieved, breaking into his cabinet's archives was nigh impossible.

He remembered the disturbing absences he discovered in his refrigerator and freezer. He took a few dollars out and put the money in a jacket pocket, distinguishing them from the money he robbed from the leopard earlier. After closing down the ubersecure cabinet archives, he put the drug money in an envelope on top of his dresser.

All of his necessities would be accounted for later on, but he still needed to pick up more ice cream and orange juice. Having replaced his purple hoodie with a grey one, he put his house on lockdown once more before heading to the grocery store.

. . .

 **Meanwhile...**

To Nick, it wasn't surprising to see Mr. Burton's house, a rather large estate with white columns supporting the front part of the ceiling. The mansion was two stories high, with a fountain of a female cheetah dressed in ancient Roman clothing in the front lawn. With his night vision, he could see the grassy, recently-mowed lawn that contrasted with the sandy area outside the property boundaries. _Totally fake grass,_ he assumed.

A closed fence was the only thing keeping them from the front entrance. Judy reached over to push a button on a console. A woman's voice sounded from a speaker on the doorbell, "Who is it?"

"Officers Hopps and Wilde, ZPD. We want to ask Mrs. Burton a few questions," Judy replied, her voice even.

"O...kay. She'll be at the door in just a moment," said the voice. The fence opened up in front of them, Judy slowly pulling the cruiser up.

The duo went up to the front doorway, a towering female camel on the other side wearing nightclothes. Nick tilted his head back in order to look her in the eye. Unlike Justin, the camel didn't receive the police officers warmly, an impatient scowl on her face. It was understandable; most people didn't want to be questioned by cops in the better part of nine P.M.

"Good evening, Mrs. Burton. May we come in?" Judy asked.

"I suppose," Mrs. Burton said, moving to the side to let them in. The duo entered the mansion, finding a long hallway with framed abstract art on both walls. A large, blue-colored chandelier hung overhead, illuminating the area. The off-white carpet was as soft as sheep's wool, a sensation Nick felt somewhat proud of knowing.

Mrs. Burton led them to their living room, the duo sitting on a fancy sofa across the camel. She seemed to be sizing them up, as if questioning whether they were real cops. While Nick and Judy were still dressed in their civvies, they still had badges pinned to their chest pockets. Plus, after the Night Howler incident, Nick would be danged if he and Judy weren't instantly recognizable as the star new additions to the ZPD.

"We're investigating the bank robbery that happened a few hours ago, and our information has led us to your husband," Judy explained. "We got word of a suspicious person inside the casino, as well as strange behavior from Mr. Burton. We'd like to know if you had noticed anything peculiar with your husband lately."

The camel's expression lost all impatience as she pondered the inquiry. "He never talked much, but recently his silence was _really_ noticeable. He hasn't said a word to me in three days. I kept asking him what was wrong, but he never responded to me."

Nick heard Judy scribbling more notes in her pad. "Have you heard anything about recent business moves?" the rabbit asked.

"Nothing," Mrs. Burton shook her head.

"Has Mr. Burton ever behaved like this?" Nick asked.

"I think three...no, five years ago, when we put our house into mortgage. The casino was floundering at that time. He wouldn't come back home until about three in the morning, definitely going to that bar in Savannah District. It was really a surprise at that time; I thought he'd stopped drinking since we got married."

"So, if he wasn't here or at the casino, he'd be in a bar?" Judy assumed.

"It pains me to say it, but that's where he'd be if something was bothering him that much."

"Does he have a usual spot?" said Nick.

"I think he goes to the Wasted Wallaby, near Fourth Street. I only know because I...may have bribed his cabbie to tell me where he was one night." Mrs. Burton produced a small, sly smile akin to Nick's.

"Is there anything else you could tell us?" said Judy.

The camel sighed a bit, her expression grim again. "When you find him, make sure he knows you're on his side. He wouldn't tell _me_ what was wrong. I just hope you can get through to him when I couldn't."

Nick laughed inwardly; Judy was the one who had taken Weaselton to Mr. Big in order to get him to talk. He was sure that they could find _some_ way to wring information out of the fearful camel...

. . .

...if they could find him. The duo had searched the ten most popular bars in the district, including the Wasted Wallaby, all to no avail. It had gotten quite late in the night, and the two officers had to report to the station early the next morning.

Of course, being on time wasn't Nick's prime concern. He wasn't a happy camper if he missed his beauty sleep.

"I don't know about you, Fluff, but I'm beat. Think we should call it a night?" Nick asked after exiting the last bar, stretching his arms. The two headed to their cruiser parked just outside.

Judy, however, still looked as energized as ever. They entered the cruiser as she answered, "There's no telling how much ground the robbers will cover overnight. We're not gonna get too close to them based on hearsay. We're stopping at the station to see what forensics could dig up. Besides, I thought you were nocturnal."

"But my sleep schedule revolves around day shifts." Nick shrugged. "Nevertheless, it's worth it if it means I can work with you."

The sudden sentiment surprised Judy, leaving her in temporary silence. Smirking, she started the car.

 _It's always a good thing if she can't say anything back,_ Nick concluded, a smug grin on his face.

They arrived at the station, a Star-Buck coffee in Nick's hand. He and Judy walked past the main lobby and past the debriefing room and entered the main forensics room. There, they found the bare bodies of the two gangsters from the concert lying on examination tables, covered with bloody blankets.

A young oryx wearing a white lab mask and a lab coat was examining the coyote at the moment. Her mahogany eyes flicked toward the duo. She moved the mask under her jaw and said, "Evening, officers."

"Hello, Dr. Prongson," said Judy,

The oryx huffed through her nose. "Please, 'Lyla' is fine. I'm sure you're here for an update on the shooting at the Gazelle concert."

Nick slowly paced in front of the examination tables. "Yeah. Did you get anything, doc?"

"There were a few developments I found interesting," Lyla replied. "The bodies were found around ten feet from each other, but the evidence suggests something different. The spatter velocity indicates that both guns were fired within a foot of the victims. There were scorch marks found on the bodies, as well as on both victims' clothes. Therefore, it's more likely that the assailant fired from point blank range, using two different weapons."

"Wait, you said 'assailan **t** ," Nick asked, emphasizing the singular ending. "So it's confirmed that the gangsters didn't kill each other?"

"It's almost certain," Lyla nodded. "That coupled with the fact that there weren't any signs of a struggle between them nearly solidifies the existence of a third party. Which brings me to my next point: The weapons used in the assault were wiped clean prior to the event. Sure, the victims' fingerprints and somatic cells were on the guns, but they looked fresh. Too fresh. I analyzed the victims' muscles in their shooting arms."

"So, even if the gangsters used the same weapons before, it doesn't look like they used them tonight?" Judy concluded.

"Exactly. Additionally, while there weren't any other fingerprints, there _were_ glove marks found on both weapons. The victims were ostensibly affiliated with gangs in Savannah District. While gangs are dangerous, they almost never use enough forethought to use gloves when killing mammals."

None of the cops had any argument there. Judy said, "The bank's cameras were down when the robbery occurred. Did the same thing happen with the murder?"

"Yes. All of the stadium's cameras were shut off from 7:01 to 7:06. The evidence confirms that the victims were shot within that five-minute window. However, when the cameras came back on, they showed the witness entering the men's bathroom at 7:31. The victims didn't die immediately from their wounds, but they were significant enough for the victims to bleed out in a twenty-five minute window."

"Hmm..." Nick said, stroking his chin. "We could try going further, by looking at the traffic cameras at around that same time, although that may end up with the same result."

"There's also security to think about," Judy pointed out. "No common street thug would have been able to take out at least two security guards. If the gangsters had the weapons on them, how would they have gotten past security? Why wouldn't the gangsters just shoot the guards? And if they did that, what would have been the point of doing so with so many people coming in and out of the stadium at that time?"

"This leads me to my third exhibit," Lyla claimed. She walked over to her utensil table and pulled out a remote control. She pointed it to a TV screen embedded in the wall. The screen showed a series of messages on two different devices. "What you're seeing here are some of the last few text messages both victims had before they died. Two different numbers contacted them three days ago, at nearly the same time. The victims were both told to meet at the Gazelle concert, but the reason why is still left in the dark."

"So, what does this tell us?" Nick asked.

"That by itself doesn't tell you anything," Lyla replied, flicking to an image of a Zootopia map. "However, we were able to triangulate the messages' sources here," an animated circle appeared around a neighborhood on the north side of town, "and here," another circle appeared on the east side. "Both circles have a five-mile radius. I'll send the coordinates to you on your GPS."

"Nice. Now, did you all find anything related to the bank robbery, in particular?" Nick pressed.

"Nothing doing. Aside from the KO'd guards, the broken vent, and a shattered window, there hasn't been anything new."

Nick noticed Judy tapping her foot in annoyance. The fox could infer that the scarcity of evidence was eating her. Nick's life "hustling" others had seen its fair share of completed operations, but nothing to _this_ degree. Crimes done in this scope, yet possessing such a surreptitious background was comparable only to Mr. Big's operation.

And yet, Nick and Judy had confirmed that Mr. Big wasn't involved with the bank robbery, or so the shrew said. It was entirely possible that the shrew lied through his teeth in front of two cops, but Mr. Big had lots of respect for Judy for saving Fru Fru. Besides, the mafia had more money than most bank workers could dream of, so it was unlikely that they, of all people, would have robbed a bank.

If nothing else, approaching Mr. Big with half-baked accusations, with a badge, no less, was like writing one's will early.

Nick finished his coffee and tossed the cup in a trash can. "Thanks for the four-one-one, Lyla."

"Yeah, good work," Judy agreed.

"Do come back sometime; I've only got carcasses to keep me company," Lyla joshed with a good-natured smile.

* * *

 **Holy lateness, Batman!**

 **It's been around five months since I last posted in this story, but as the adage indicates, "better late than never."**

 **This story and the story I was making for UnderTale were battling for dominance over the last few months, but I got some inspiration to continue this one. I'm starting to get back on that good foot for writing, I believe.**

 **I also came across something that would cause something to not make any sense. Since in Zootopia, humans never happened, which means that domesticated cats, such as the OC I write, wouldn't exist. Though this realization makes perfect sense, I'm not going to change my tabby's species. So what's the explanation for a tabby to exist in this universe?**

 **The author's stubbornness.**

 **As always, I thank you for reading, and reviews are requested and appreciated!**


	4. Chapter 4: Got a Lotta Enemies

**Chapter 4: Got a Lotta Enemies**

Judy was becoming less lucid as paramedics rolled her into an emergency room. She winced from the bullet wound in her chest.

Her eyes closed for a moment. They reopened.

"...please be okay, Judy..."

"...she's losing a lot of blood...hit the left side of her chest..."

Her eyes closed and reopened again. She noticed the rhythmic beeping of heartbeat monitors in a hospital.

"...no exit wound...completely lodged in..."

"...access to full metal jacket rounds..."

"...one of those special hollow point rounds..."

"...at the rate she's bleeding, she'll be lucky to live..."

The rabbit was almost completely unresponsive. While the pain of her wound was subsiding, so was her consciousness.

Events of the last hour flashed in her mind as she felt herself gradually progress from this life to the next. Mammals in gang colors. The flash of handguns. The hot, searing pain of a handgun bullet. The sight of her own blood on her paws. How everything froze at that exact moment.

She struggled to keep her eyes open, staring up at the bright lights of the examination room ceiling. Various mammals with masks and doctor's coats looked down at her as they investigated her body for more wounds.

"N-Nick..."

Her eyes finally shut.

. . .

 **Earlier...**

Lyla had given the duo two different locations to investigate. Although Judy had been a cop for a few months now, there was still an entire city for her to discover and explore. Because of this, she consulted Nick as to where they should look first.

"The east side can get pretty shady, especially when you go uptown," Nick suggested.

"How shady are we talking?" said Judy, turning as the light turned green.

"Cops going uptown and east in the dead of night? I'd say it's the bring-a-bulletproof-vest-or-you'll-most-certainly-die type of shady," Nick replied.

"Not like we didn't handle things just as dangerous before," Judy commented, a determined grin on her face. "Ever since those city riots, I've kept a few vests in the cruiser. I just hope it doesn't have to come to...that." She headed toward the eastern location. "Any specific places we should start with?"

"Well, if we see him, we can hit up my old pal Finnick; he always knows what's happening on the 'other' side of the law."

"Are you sure he'll want to talk to you after you 'switched sides?'"

"Hey, he helped _you_ find _me_ , didn't he?"

A few minutes later, the police scanner crackled. Judy adjusted the dial to get better reception of the communication.

"- ten-ten at Fang Street, looking like a gang war. All available units, respond!" an officer said on the line. Judy and Nick looked at each other. The street was only a few blocks away; plus, if the gangs in question were connected to the two victims at the concert, it could yield more leads to the bank robbers.

Judy grabbed the transceiver. "This is Officers Hopps and Wilde, unit eight-one-eight. We're closing in on the area and about to investigate the crime scene."

Another police officer on the line said, "Ten-four, Hopps. Standby for assistance."

"By the time they'll get there, it'll be over," Nick protested as Judy put the transceiver away.

"They'll establish a perimeter in case they try to escape ," Judy clarified. "Plus, _we'll_ be the ones ending it." She turned on her police siren. She hardly slowed down as she made a sharp turn to her left, civilian vehicles's tires screeching as they suddenly braked.

Even if Judy didn't know where Fang Street was, she could have followed the sound of gunshots echoing throughout the neighborhood. After a right turn, they came across Fang Street, a rather narrow pathway on the outskirts of the business district. The road was a gateway that led to the residential district, with several old or defunct business buildings on either side. The siren lights provided most of the illumination there, outshining the ancient street lights that brightened the sidewalks.

Sudden flashes of white light appeared as gang mammals dressed with rolled up pants legs and bandannas fired their weapons at each other, shattering the windows behind the other side. Judy's nose twitched, her heart racing. She turned onto Fang Street, closing the distance between them and the criminals. She turned and stopped the car, although keeping the police lights on for increased visibility. They were about fifty feet away when they both exited.

Nick pulled out Glock 19 pistols from the glove compartment as they exited the car from the driver's side door, taking cover during the crossfire. The cops hit the pavement not a moment too soon as the gangsters began firing at the cruiser, shattering the windows and destroying the police lights. Judy ducked her head as glass fell on her pate.

"Never a dull moment, huh, Fluff?" Nick yelled over the gunfire, anxiety tinged in his voice. He flinched as more glass flew overhead.

"Cover me; you have night vision!" Judy responded, catching her pistol after Nick tossed it to her. She winced as she heard more bullets hitting the cruiser.

After a deep breath, Nick stood up and aimed over the trunk. He fired three shots, a mammal grunting from a distance. The fox crouched back into cover, a satisfied look on his face. "Got 'em," he said simply, bullets flying over his head.

Judy rolled her eyes and peeked around the hood of the car. She squinted as she tried to assess the situation. On her side, there were three red-clad mammals taking cover behind a beat-up car. A stag took a bullet to the chest and fell to the cement.

She bit her lip as she aimed at a gazelle. She fired. The weapon kicked in her paws so much, she nearly dropped it. Her jaw certainly dropped when she saw where the shot landed. In a split second, she eyed the gazelle as blood dropped from his forehead.

The rabbit crouched back behind the cruiser, her gaze temporarily fixed in a thousand-yard stare. Not even a year into her career, she had to raise a gun to kill someone. Of course, this was part of the job, and she knew that going into the force, but nothing could have prepared her for the initial shock that came with taking another mammal's life...

This wasn't like the movies where the action hero was nigh remorseless when killing another mammal, with Hollywood effects and witty one-liners sugarcoating a sentient being's cessation of life. Sure, the act was justified, but she still knew that she would have to carry this weight for the rest of her days.

"Judy!" Nick's touch brought her back to earth, his paw on her shoulder.

She shook her head to regain focus. "I'm okay!" she said, mostly to herself. She then noticed that the sound of gunfire had drastically subsided. A gangster fired three more shots at the cops before all was silent. Her ear twitched as a police siren wailed in the distance.

"He's running away!" Nick alerted, scrambling past the car. Judy quickly followed the fox down the street. The two moved frantically, their guns pointed to the ground.

They dashed to the sidewalk on their right and cut inside an alleyway between an old five-and-dime store and a Chinese restaurant. They brought their guns forward as they continued to pursue the gang member.

The cops were at a crossroads in the alley, the path diverging into two directions. They looked left, then right.

"Split up!" Judy told him, taking the left path. The fox followed her directive without question.

The rabbit's path had even more crossroads, forcing her to use her heightened hearing to track down the last mammal. Her right ear twitched as she approached a fork in the path. She followed the sound and continued on.

From a small distance, she heard glass breaking and Nick gasping. Her first thought was to investigate what was going on, but she had faith that Nick could have handled whatever it was. Nonetheless, anxiety lingered in her mind as she pressed on.

The sound of footsteps continued leading Judy until she met three brick walls. A dead end.

Her ear twitched slightly as soft footfalls sounded behind her. She brought her gun around.

 _THWIT!_ Before she could fire, the unknown assailant shot her first with a silenced weapon. She yelled as an acute, fiery pain erupted in the left side of her chest. The force of the shot had brought her to the ground, the rabbit lying supine.

She lifted her head and pistol, about to fire back. The assailant, whose body was veiled in all black clothes, shot again, this time knocking the Glock out of Judy's paw.

Her left paw on her chest, she reached for her gun. The assailant fired once more, the bullet hitting her paw. Judy grunted as her paw shook with pure agony, her blood flowing from between her thumb and index finger. She looked back at the assailant, gritting her teeth. The mammal wordlessly fled the scene.

"JUDY!" she heard Nick yell. Glass then rustled in a quick, rhythmic fashion a few buildings away. Judy then fell on her back, fruitlessly trying to nurse her wounds. Her chest heaved as she took in quick, large breaths.

The world was fading out quickly. Soon, she heard little else apart from her own heavy breathing and labored attempts at yelling out. However, her throat was soon filled with blood, smothering the sound of her voice.

She then heard the fox's footfalls down the alley. Nick gasped and sprinted toward her. "Nononononononono..." The rabbit felt the warmth of Nick's body as he approached her. She could barely make out Nick's visage as she gradually drifted in and out of consciousness.

Judy felt Nick's paws on her wound, adding more pressure to it. "Officer down, repeat, officer down! Judy's hit near Fang Street! Send medics NOW!" the fox yelled in his transceiver. Then, in a more gentle voice, he begged, "Judy, don't die on me! Just hang on! The medics are on their way!"

"N-Nick..." Her eyes locked onto the fox's, her vision still blurring. "W...wa..."

"What is it?" Nick listened with pure intent, his expression panicked.

"Be...hind..." she struggled to say. She tried to warn him of the assailant's presence. Fortunately, he seemed to get it. Nick's ears flattened as he drew his gun and aimed it towards the alley's entrance, guarding the wounded cop.

Nick then looked back at Judy, his shoulders rising and falling with his breathing. "You're not dying," he proclaimed, his voice shuddering, "not here, not now. Promise me you'll hang on!"

Judy could hardly speak, so she nodded. Nick's pleading countenance was the last thing she saw before blacking out.

. . .

The serenity of the next morning was an utter juxtaposition of the events that occurred the previous night. Sunlight cascaded through the window, birds chirped in the sky, and a gentle breeze rushed through the leaves. Even the sound of car motors in the distance was thoroughly reassuring for the intrepid cop.

Judy woke up in a sky blue hospital gown, lying in a comfortable bed. An I.V. was inserted in her right arm. She felt itching sensations on her chest and paw coming from the bandages placed on her wounds. The chest shot she took earlier still caused immense pain all the way up to her collarbone, but she knew that she was in better shape than last night.

The shot to her paw, fortunately, only injured the flesh. Though it was difficult to move her thumb and index finger, she figured that this injury wouldn't have long-lasting effects.

Her ear twitched as the door opened. Judy groggily discerned the orange blob quickly approaching her. After blinking a few times, she could finally recognize who it was.

She felt a soft, padded paw slip into her own before she could say anything. Her amethyst eyes connected with his emerald ones.

"How you feeling, Fluff?" Nick tried to ask nonchalantly. However, the slightly widened eyes and lowered ears showed how _he_ was doing at the moment.

Judy gently squeezed Nick's paw in affirmation. "I'll be okay. Will you?"

Nick silently scoffed, his smile returning. "Getting my feet cut by glass is nothing like getting shot, Carrots." He lifted his bandaged foot to demonstrate.

 _This_ was news to her. "What?" she chuckled. She should have felt bad for laughing, but she seemed to retain her sunny disposition during overcast circumstances. It must have been the morphine.

"Yeah, it was weird. A bunch of broken glass just fell behind me when I was looking for the last gangster. When I heard you yelling...I didn't have time to worry about the glass." His smile then faded as he sighed. "I shouldn't have decided to go to the east side first."

"Hey, don't blame yourself. We both knew the risks going into it, and we did our jobs. Besides, the north side probably would have been worse."

Nick did a sideways nod, knowing that Judy's statement was correct.

"I couldn't get any sleep last night, you know," Nick commented.

"I'm surprised _you_ of all people were so concerned. Not even _you_ could kill me," Judy jested.

There was his smile again, which did more for Judy than anything the doctors could perform. "Never took you for the joke-telling type."

"Well, I never saw _you_ look so serious before," Judy countered.

The door opened again, Bogo crouching under the top of the doorway. The chief held a bouquet of flowers and a card signed by many in the department. He set them down on a cabinet beside Judy's bed.

"Morning, Hopps. Nice to see you already up," Bogo murmured, a ghost of a smile on his face. He walked to the other side of the bed, taking a chair beside Judy.

"Thanks, Chief. What are the doctors saying?" Judy asked.

Bogo let out a resigned breath. "They're saying that it'll be at least six to eight weeks before you can even _think_ about returning to field duty."

"Eight _weeks_?" Judy said incredulously. "But what about the case?"

"Part of the reason I came here. Fangmeyer and Delgato are working on the robbery case as of now. Wilde, I'm assigning you to work in the department building until you're fully healed. When you're cleared, I'm assigning Grizzoli to work with you until Hopps is cleared for re-entry," Bogo clarified.

A look of understanding passed between Judy and Nick; they wouldn't have gotten this far without the aid of a mob boss. Nick gave a small nod as if to say, "My lips are sealed."

"Yes, Chief," Nick murmured. The situation hadn't looked this dire until Nick showed a disturbing amount of docility towards Bogo. No smart-aleck remarks, no quips, nothing. Last night had really taken a toll on the sly fox. Judy rubbed her thumb on Nick's paw as if to comfort him.

"The entire department is praying for your recovery, Hopps. Rest well. Wilde." Bogo nodded at the fox before leaving the hospital room.

"Can you tell me anything about the guy who shot you? Was it the last Fang Street hoodlum?" Nick inquired. The question seemed innocent enough, but Judy could tell there was something thickly veiled within those words. The fox's nose scrunched slightly as he asked the question. Although it was more contained now, she had seen that look before, and it was an expression that broke her heart once. He looked that way when Judy asserted that predators were reverting back to their primal state.

If anything, it was good that the anger wasn't necessarily directed at _her_ , but she still had no idea how dangerous Nick could have been if driven enough.

"It must have been one of the mammals who helped rob the bank. All black clothes. I couldn't identify them," Judy responded. Nick's jaw clenched, the fox looking in the distance in slight exasperation. The sight contributed to Judy's growing feeling of helplessness. Seeing him like that hurt worse than a hollow point round. The fact that there was little she could do to get him to smile and laugh was salt in the wound.

She realized her own hypocrisy just then. Even though blaming herself wouldn't help matters at all, she still did to some degree. Her fellow officer directed her to standby for assistance, which would have included better-equipped, better-prepared, and better-experienced deputies to aid in the incident. Nevertheless, her insatiable appetite to aid in the common good had nearly led to her demise.

"Look, Nick, I'm gonna be fine. None of us are gonna solve anything just by sitting here. _You're_ still able to work. You should take advantage of it."

The fox slowly nodded. "I'm gonna find whoever did this," he said determinedly. "You have my word."

. . .

 **Later...**

It had been a week since the tabby's robbery attempt, and already things were getting more chaotic than usual. Her Eloquence was apparently shot during a gang war in Fang Street, leaving her in critical condition. The tabby only wished the attacker finished the job.

Local stores left and right were getting vandalized or robbed in a random pattern. There was no connection between any two crime scenes, and when and where the attacks happened were sporadic. Some took place when the stores were open, others when they were closed. The first reported attack was in the Rainforest District, with another one in Sahara Square and three in Savannah Central. Tundratown, strangely, remained untouched for now. He guessed the guilty party didn't like the cold.

Banks across Zootopia and in other cities had beefed up their security, metaphorically speaking. Rumor had it that the bigger banks hired private military contractors for temporary protection while the robbers were still at large. A second shot at bank robbing would have to wait a while.

The ZPD was no doubt being stretched thin with this crime wave occurring throughout the city. The tabby wondered who could have caused all of this. Aside from robbing the bank, these acts weren't exactly the tabby's style. These seemed more like acts of reckless bravado in order to prove something to somebody. It was almost as if the criminals _wanted_ their crimes to be broadcast throughout the city.

If that was the case, it was a stupid way of doing things. Sooner or later, this group (the crimes seemed too organized for just one person to commit) would get caught, and all their progress would have been for nothing.

On the bright side, while this crazy new gang was painting a target on its own back, it would draw police attention away from the criminals _without_ delusions of grandeur.

The day was mostly cloudy, a light breeze coming from the northwest. The tabby traversed through alleyways near Main Street, careful to avoid the traffic cameras whenever he could. He was dressed in a blue hoodie and khaki cargo pants, following directions he heard a time ago. He walked until he found a van parked near the street.

The tabby then knocked on the predominantly orange back door. "It's ya local hood cat," he announced. He recalled how jumpy the van's resident could get if he was uncertain about anything. Thanks, Judy.

The door swung open, revealing a short, grey fennec fox wearing a black shirt. The tabby almost vocally judged the fox for his size the first time he met him, but he also realized his own situation; the tabby himself wasn't that much taller than Judy.

Scowling, Finnick held out a paw. The tabby handed him a fifty dollar bill. After holding the bill up to the sunlight, the fox asked him, "So, what do you wanna know?"

The tabby still wasn't used to the fox's deep voice. "What's up wit this massive crime spree goin' on?"

"A lot of it's still in the dark. Rumor has it that some group is tryin' to overthrow the mob. These guys picked the bank that Mr. Big pretty much owns, and now they're lookin' to see which of these mom-and-pop stores are sponsored by the mafia."

The moves made more sense now; you hit up a store, wait a day or two, and see which stores had "special protection" standing around.

"These guys _also_ kidnapped some broad from Sahara Square," Finnick continued. "Heard it was the wife of some casino owner or something."

Dollar signs were practically visible in the tabby's eyes. You couldn't get a better combination than that! Casino owner plus kidnapping equaled a much smaller retirement age!

"Where can I find 'im?" the tabby asked.

Finnick scoffed, crossing his arms. "You know the drill, cat. It's fifty for each question."

The tabby clenched his jaw. He'd forgotten about that little rule as his moneymaking daydreams ran wild. He reluctantly slipped the fox another bill.

"The guy is a camel that runs the Easy Ten in the Square, but you can also find him at the Wasted Wallaby nearby. Dunno what problem he's got, but somebody could profit."

The tabby nodded. He would figure everything else out by himself. Though Finnick's information had expensive rates, it was nonetheless valuable. The tabby recollected something he read in an economics book: _"You have to speculate to accumulate."_ "Good lookin' out," he said to Finnick.

He went to the Wasted Wallaby first, given the location's proximity. The place was near the intersection of Whisker Lane and Fourth Street. The tabby saw the place's logo, a wallaby sitting on a stool with X's over his eyes and his tongue sticking out. A bottle labeled "XXX" sat nearby. The bar's name was written out in a fancy gold font across a dark red awning.

The tabby was across the street when he found it. He paused temporarily, taking deep breaths. He was almost wholly averse to places like this. He hadn't really visited bars or the like often, but he knew what sorts of things could go down there. The tabby absentmindedly ran a paw across his chest as flashbacks of his childhood replayed in his mind.

 _He recalled the sound of cracking bottles, hateful words, and his own yelps of distress as he lay helpless in his own bedroom. His own blood was on his hands as he wondered what he did to deserve such treatment._

Clenching his teeth, the tabby shook his head. _Don't let the memories come back._ Before he could convince himself otherwise, he marched towards the bar's entrance.

The Wasted Wallaby had an acceptable setup; the main bar had several high-definition television screens, tuned to everything from mixed mammal arts fights to news. Aside from the seats at the main bar, there were several small tables with stools beside them.

The tabby's sensitive nose stung with the pungent scent of alcohol as he continued to suppress his dark memories. He scanned the bar's many patrons, looking for a tall being who stood out among the crowd.

Jackpot. In the far corner sat a stressed-looking camel dressed in an expensive suit. He had beady blue eyes that shifted left and right, as if he was wary of someone watching him. His fingers tapped on a bottle on the table.

The tabby walked across the bar towards the camel's table, keeping his eyes locked onto his potential new client. He stopped when the camel finally acknowledged his presence.

"What do you want?" the camel asked, his voice quavering slightly.

"You Reese Burton?" the tabby answered, his face neutral.

The camel took in a quick breath through his nose. "Who wants to know?"

"That answas that," said the tabby. He climbed onto the seat across from the camel, his nose barely visible above the table when he sat. Self-conscious, he stood on his stool.

The camel stared at the tabby in apprehension. "Look, I've told you guys already, I don't - have - the money," Burton claimed.

This response caught the tabby a little off guard. "I don't know whatchu talkin' about. Who you think I am?"

"You're meaning to tell me you're not working for the people demanding my casino?" Burton spat, unconvinced.

"That's the first I heard 'bout it. Nah, I ain't workin' fa nobody. I _could_ be workin' fa _you_ , though," said the tabby, pointing at the camel.

Burton produced a soulless laugh. "What could a _cat_ do for me? I thought your kind didn't exist!"

The tabby's face hardened. "Retrieval service. You wanna get yo' wife back, I wanna make my pockets fat."

The color drained from Burton's face. "How do you know about that?"

"I got my ways. I also got ways a' makin' sure nobody can see me if need be."

Burton looked at the tabby incredulously. "You're a criminal."

"Neva said anythang a' the sort," the tabby defended.

"You have the look and sound of one. You come in here pretending to care about my wife's wellbeing, when in reality you're no better than the twisted crooks who kidnapped my wife." Burton's brows furrowed as he leaned over slightly with his low-key racist remarks.

However, the tabby was unfazed. "Heh-heh, best watch what you say, Moneybags. It don't look like you got a lotta suckas linin' up ta help save the woman you supposedly care 'bout. It seem like the fools who lifted the bank done 'napped ya dame, too. 'Cause a' that, nobody else got the moxie ta take on this job. But if you drive me away, _you_ gon' live the widowa life when _you_ coulda prevented it."

Burton was immediately silenced, leaning back in his seat. He took a moment to ponder the tabby's words. The feline hardly contained a victorious lopsided grin. Another lesson he remembered was to guilt trip potential clients into compliance if they became difficult. The tabby was banking on the possibility that Burton truly loved his wife. Of course, in a city like this, it was a crapshoot; being the millionaire that he was, Burton could have had a cow or three on the side without his wife's knowledge. His wife's disappearance may not have had any emotional effect on him whatsoever.

Alas, Burton showed true concern for the woman he loved. Others may have found it honorable, but the tabby knew that it was merely a weakness for mammals like himself to exploit.

"How can I trust that you'll get her back?" Burton asked.

"It's like what you did: You ain't think I was nothin', and that was 'cause you saw me. But I'm lighta, I'm quieta, and I'm harda ta find. All the thangs you assumed 'bout me is potential advantages ta findin' ya wife. If I'm correct, then the dudes holdin' the missus hostage told ya not ta call the cops. As you can see, I ain't carryin' a badge."

Burton took a few more deep breaths, in deep contemplation. "How much do you want?"

"Well, how much you think ya woman's worth?"

The camel thought for a moment. "I'll offer you fifty thousand dollars."

"Fifty grand?" The tabby chuckled. "That's barely enough fa me ta get a lock of 'er hair."

Burton growled. "You really _are_ no better than them. Seventy-five thousand, then."

"Dang, Mista B. I thought you loved 'er." The tabby smiled cockily at his own flippancy.

The camel slammed a hoof on the table. "Look, _cat_ , do _not_ try my patience. My available prices seem 'low' to you because funds are suffering right now. Do you even _know_ how expensive it is to maintain a casino?"

"See, that's the thang, Moneybags: I don't care 'bout sobstories or excuses. I care 'bout the Benjis. If I'm goin' on rescue missions, I'mma need the appropriate compensation."

Burton's fingers fidgeted as he glared at the tabby. "My final offer is a hundred twenty-five thousand. I will _not_ go higher than that."

 _Hunnid twenty-five K, huh? That really ain't bad._ The retirement fund was coming along nicely for your local hood cat. "You got ya self a deal," the tabby affirmed, nodding. "Now, I'mma need a timeline and anythang you can give me 'bout oldgirl's captas."

Burton responded in an undertone. "They call themselves the Specialized Laborers of Zootopia. They came out of nowhere and requested that I sell my casino for a million dollars. I refused; my family has run the casino for the last five generations. I wasn't going to give it up. After I refused, they kept sending this jackal who would come in and watch my every move. He would come in during the morning and leave when it closed late at night. Eventually, my security stopped letting him in."

The group name rang a bell in the tabby's mind. Nonetheless, he let the camel continue explaining.

"Not long after, I realized I couldn't find my wife anywhere. Then I get a call from an unknown number demanding that I pay two point five million if I wanted to see my wife again. From that point, I knew that I couldn't keep the casino _and_ my wife." Burton sighed in stress. "I offered to sell my casino to the group, but they weren't interested anymore. I couldn't even put my house or my casino into mortgage yet because of that bank robbery."

"How long you got ta pay?"

"Two days."

It was a tight timeline, but still manageable. "So, once I do the one-two thang, where I'm supposed ta meet wichya?"

"Contact me via this number." Burton slipped the tabby a business card. "I will make a decision as to where we'll meet by then." His face hardened once more. "Understand that you won't get a dime unless you get her back safely."

"Heh. 'Fore ya know it, you gon' be callin' _me_ Moneybags." The tabby stepped off of the stool. "Pleasure doin' bidness wichya. And don't be spendin' none a' my money on any a' them dranks."

Burton gritted his teeth as the feline left the table.

. . .

The "Specialized Laborers of Zootopia." To the ignorant, it sounded like a workers' union. The tabby could understand why it was addressed as such; it showed pride for what a group of people did, even if it entailed lowlife crimes.

He'd heard of this group at one point, but never worried about them. They never struck him as a serious threat, since they usually resorted to small-time crime like graffiti and drug dealing.

With that in mind, it was more than a surprise to hear about their most recent moves. So it was _them_ who robbed the bank and captured Mrs. Burton. This new "crime blitz" strategy seemed out of place when associated with the Laborers. Even so, it certainly did appear that they were launching a power struggle against the mafia. If Finnick spoke the truth, it would be interesting to see how it would play out.

Despite the Laborers' newfound sense of organization, the tabby still wasn't concerned. Just because their strategies changed didn't mean that their overall competence would match his own. Additionally, the tabby inadvertently unearthed two money-making opportunities instead of one; he would rescue Mrs. Burton and get back the cash that was rightfully his! In the unlikely event that he had to choose one or the other, Mr. Burton would then become a loose end.

The Laborers' hideout was set up in the southern part of Savannah Central. Instead of a large, prominent estate set up for all to see, the gang took refuge underground. It was typical for a group like them, but nonetheless effective.

The tabby quickly went back home to grab some infiltration clothes before heading to the hideout entrance. Attired in his balaclava, shades, black hoodie, cargo pants, and foot pads, he took to a manhole in an abandoned alley. The tabby quietly hummed a song from Metal Bear Solid as he descended a ladder.

The opening didn't lead to a sewer, but instead a rather clean passageway. The brick walls arched high overhead, about ten feet away from each other. The passageway had been heavily utilized during the Prohibition era. All kinds of drinks had passed through here without the police's knowledge.

The tabby's point of entry was critical; the Laborers usually didn't enter their hideout from the manhole he chose. There was a larger entrance elsewhere that most of the criminals took. Of course, that entrance would have led the tabby to a more exposed point.

This path, on the other hand, led to an aptly named catwalk. He was above the main hideout area, an abandoned speakeasy that still retained much of its 1920s luster. Though the bar looked shiny and animal scents were relatively fresh, there was nobody here. Odd; the tabby knew that there were at least a few mammals in here at all times so that the Laborers could function with _some_ order. Maybe everyone was out terrorizing five-and-dimes and capturing wealthy mammals' wives.

Nevertheless, he continued on the catwalk, his silenced Glock 30 in paw. He made little noise as he stepped across the metal grating. The way curved left with the tunnel until it ended near a crossroads.

It was about a twenty foot drop to the ground. The tabby crouched before leaping off the catwalk. He landed near the intersection, landing gracefully. He swept his gun 360 degrees around himself. The coast was clear.

Even though kidnapping was a new low for the Laborers, the tabby knew that there was only one place where they would keep a prisoner. He turned left at the crossroads, moving swiftly, yet silently.

The absence of Laborers inside their own hideout, coupled with the ever-fresh scent of mammals, was eerie. Honestly, the tabby had expected a lot more of a challenge for infiltrating this place. Sure, the Laborers were a joke, but seeing even one guard here would have confirmed that he was in the right place. However, now wasn't the time for uncertainty.

He then approached a hallway with six doors, three on each side. The third door on the left was most likely where Mrs. Burton would be kept. The tabby sniffed the immediate area, even opening his mouth to perceive more smells. Again, the odor of many different mammals, mostly predators, lingered within the atmosphere, but none were prevalent enough to warrant suspicion. He _did_ , however, catch a whiff that reminded him of Mr. Burton.

The tabby put his ear to the door, wary of any bombs or traps inside. He was still unsettled by how easy this whole shebang was. He then twisted the doorknob. It was unlocked.

He walked inside, sweeping his gun across the room. The only thing inside was a tall, lanky camel with a bag over her head. She sat still and silent, almost lifeless. The tabby grinned. "Too easy."

He then felt a pistol barrel against the back of his head. "You're right. It _was_ too easy."

* * *

 **I am slightly irked. The information I got for the other officers in the ZPD was changed since the time I uploaded Chapter 1. Apparently Fangmeyer is a _guy_ instead of a girl. Grizzoli is a bear instead of a wolf, although I never confirmed his species yet. Like my OC's species, though, I'm not changing the details I established earlier.**

 **I wanted to keep whether or not WildeHopps was confirmed in this story a secret, but I may or may not have just given that away in this chapter. Oh, darn.**

 **I appreciate those who've made it this far and are following the story! Your support is what keeps this story alive!**

 **I'm glad I was able to incorporate a Metal Gear Solid pun here. The song the tabby was humming was the Strut A song, and the theme song I have for Judy and Nick during their action scene is "Mr. Super Hip" by Jamey Aebersold. Seriously, listen to that and tell me you don't think of that song being accompanied with a buddy cop film in the 80s.**

 **Despite the tabby's lofty opinion of himself, he's found himself in a pickle. Has he met his match with the SLZ? Will he meet his bitter end? Or will he be one step closer to getting his money right?**

 **Meanwhile, Nick has developed a serious streak after the incident at Fang Street. How well will he adjust to his new partner? More importantly, how will Judy fare in the next few days? Who was the one responsible for the assault, and why did the perp do it?**

 **Stay tuned for the next chapter of _Wait Till I Get My Money Right!_**


	5. Chapter 5: Stick Me For My Paper

**Chapter 5: Stick Me For My Paper**

The tabby's lust for money was, to say the least, a fatal flaw. This wasn't the first time that the green had caused him to throw caution to the wind like this. In hindsight, he heard footsteps behind him as he was investigating the fake Mrs. Burton, but his utter confusion took precedence in his mind.

He paused for a nanosecond to think of a plan of attack. There were two other pairs of footsteps coming from the open doorway. The footsteps were light, indicating that smaller mammals accompanied the one who held him at gunpoint.

The tabby sensed that the mammal directly behind him leaned forward to take his gun. In one brisk move, the tabby ducked, grabbed his ambusher's gun, and pointed it to the side. A silent shot sounded, the bullet hitting the stone wall to the tabby's left. He then fired a shot from his own gun, aiming upward toward the ambusher's head.

His ambusher was a leopard who now had a lifeless expression on his face, a bullet having penetrated the bottom of his jaw. While the leopard was still standing, the tabby turned around and shot a raccoon's face through the leopard's legs. As the leopard fell backward, the tabby dived to his right and fired at a skunk, the bullet striking his chest.

Upon landing, the tabby then shot the skunk's cranium, his target finally falling down. He stood up and aimed out of the door, ready for more Laborers to approach him. The coast _seemed_ to be clear, but his haunches were still raised.

He took advantage of the current window of silence to investigate the bodies. They were dressed in usual Laborers attire, with black clothes covering them from neck to toe. Their faces were uncovered, a telltale sign of their true intentions.

"Score," he whispered when he picked up their wallets. The tabby knew that the Laborers split their profits across a wide expanse of people, paying off some vice cops with vices and the like. Even after the split, he got about three days' worth of drug money from the Laborers he recently disposed of. Even factoring in how much everybody would have spent over the last week, it was still a pretty good amount.

Before he left, the tabby needed to know how much the Laborers knew. At least one of them had to use a fingerprint lock on a phone. Fortunately, one of them unlocked when the tabby pressed the raccoon's thumb against the screen.

He remembered to cover up the camera with his thumb when he scrolled through the raccoon's text messages.

 _2:04 P.M.: He took the bait._  
 _2:04 P.M.: Excellent. You know what to do._  
 _2:05 P.M.: Me and the guys are closing in._

The raccoon didn't make _too_ many mistakes; those were the only messages he had. The tabby scrolled through other applications, but there was nothing else that revealed anything about the Laborers' agenda.

There were no more mammals coming for him at the moment, but it was only a matter of time before the boss called the dead crooks and didn't get a response back.

He collected some extra ammunition from the dead Laborers and absconded the crime scene.

. . .

From underground he went high above the city streets, taking refuge on the rooftops once more. He took off running until he was about two blocks away from the entrance.

He ran toward a higher rooftop until he saw another small mammal approach from it, jumping down and rolling forward upon landing. Both the tabby and the other small mammal drew weapons at each other, each carrying similar suppressed Glock 30s.

The tabby's trigger finger twitched until he saw who it was. The other mammal was a female ring-tailed lemur with yellow eyes that almost glowed in the sunlight and dark grey fur. She wore blue jeans and a yellow tank top that matched her eyes.

The two kept their weapons trained on the other. Finally, the tabby spoke, "Why shouldn't I ice you right now?"

"Because I'm useful for your cause," the lemur replied, her tone and expression defiant.

"You ain't know nothin' 'bout my 'cause.'"

"You're trying to save Glynne Burton, the wife of the casino owner from Sahara Square. You went to our old meeting place, thinking you'd find her. Since you're here, I know you got past the ones sent to kill you. Since _I'm_ here, you have an inside source that could help you."

"Why would you wanna help me? You think I'mma pay you for the 411?"

"Payment is of little consequence to me."

The tabby looked at her incredulously. "You a _thief_! Everythang you _do_ is for the cash!"

The lemur scowled. "Just because _you_ focus on materialistic things doesn't mean I do."

"I _know_ you ain't tryna take no moral high ground!"

"And I know you're not trying to shoot me." She stuck the pistol in her holster. "Put the gun away, Sergio."

This was an optimal opportunity for the tabby to take advantage of the lemur, his trigger finger twitching again. However, he couldn't simply ignore many points she made: If Sergio was going to kill her, he would have done it without hesitation, as he did with the Laborers underground. Additionally, the lemur's knowledge could have proven invaluable for Sergio's latest escapade.

He lowered the gun. "You still ain't ansa my question. Why would you wanna help me?"

"Suffice it to say that my motives are personal and would not interest you in the slightest."

"I beg ta diffa. If I'm gettin' help from one a' the Boss Lady's cronies, I'mma need ta know exactly what I'm dealin' wit. So spill it, Olivia."

The lemur pursed her lips. "I'd be more willing to dish if you told me why you never celebrated with us after our heists."

Sergio bit his lip. It was a hit below the belt, given that every time he and others committed crimes for the Boss Lady, people would pop bottles to relish in their successes.

Everyone except Sergio.

Whatever her reason was for wanting to help Sergio, it must have touched a nerve, triggering a defense mechanism to take advantage of when Sergio appeared the most vulnerable.

When Sergio was silent, Olivia huffed, "That's what I thought."

The tabby's face hardened. "Whatchu expectin' in return?"

"Success," she said simply, folding her hands behind her back. "If you're as serious about this as you seem, Ariadna has moved headquarters to the Rainforest District." Olivia paused for a bit before continuing, "It's less obvious, and there is less police presence in an area that's eighty percent forest. That's where they're holding Mrs. Burton for the time being."

"What's wit all this capturin' bidness? Why don't y'all put a bullet in 'is head, mess wit some records, and take ova?"

"It was designed as another obstacle for the cops, as well as a trap for you. They knew from the beginning that Burton would be so desperate as to hire someone to rescue his wife. They just needed a confirmation on who it was."

"So what's y'all plan now?"

"It'll be like you said: the Burtons will die, and Ariadna will claim ownership of the casino. It will deal a crippling blow to the local mob's infrastructure."

Sergio's face brightened slightly when she said that. So Finnick's information was right on the mark: The SLZ were mobilizing throughout the city in order to take it from the Italian mob. As if reading his mind, Olivia remarked, "Where do you think your source got his information?"

"So if Burton gon' get clapped, why should I be involved? You might say you ain't interested in the papers, but at least _I_ don't lie 'bout what I want."

"If everything goes well and you take my advice, the SLZ will be all but disbanded, leaving their recent earnings up for grabs, most of which coming from a certain bank."

This _definitely_ interested Sergio, but it also warranted more suspicion. He pointed a finger at her. "You betta not be settin' me up, Olivia. If I don't get my paper at the end of all this, I won't stop until I do. Yo' brotha will get it, too."

The lemur clenched her teeth in indignation. "I assure you, that won't be a problem."

Seeing how this sentiment affected her in such a way evened the playing field a little bit. "Good. What are y'all plannin' ta use the heat y'all got a week ago?"

"We had a jackal stay inside the casino and eavesdrop on the conversation your friend had with one of the mobsters. Our order time was deliberately chosen to see where his loyalties lay. If the hyena didn't show up, he never again would have seen the light of day."

Sergio blinked. It was certainly a good thing the tabby made the delivery to Tundratown, then. "What's y'all next move?"

"By now, certain local stores will have added mob protection. Once mobsters are spread out thin, it'll be easier to deplete their numbers. The highest concentration of mobsters and Laborers will be at a storage center near Fourth and Bearclaw Boulevard. Sparks are expected to fly by two in the morning."

"You sure givin' away a lotta infamation, but it's yo' life ta lose," replied Sergio, flipping his pistol before stuffing it back in his jacket.

"I don't know how often we'll get to meet like this. After you take care of the storage center, contact Finnick for updates." Olivia then checked her phone, her tail flicking slightly. "I've gotta go." She went back the way she came.

The sudden aid was a blessing for the tabby, but he'd been in the game too long to just blindly accept her help. In his tenure with the SLZ, he hadn't paid attention to her all that much, despite being responsible for training her for a little while. With this in mind, it was difficult to gauge her standing with him. Did she have any true desire to help him, or was it another elaborate scheme by the Boss Lady to take him out?

There was a third possibility that the Boss Lady wanted him to rejoin the dark side. _That_ wouldn't work, either. For the schemes that _did_ work, the split difference at the end made it hardly worth it. Even if they were to take over the town, the Boss Lady would still find ways to make his pockets thin.

He had a lot to think about as he traveled back to his house. He wanted to take a few catnaps to retain his energy for that night.

. . .

 **Later...**

He debated whether or not to tell Manny about the people the hyena delivered weapons to. On the one hand, his friend needed to be aware of the potential danger he stepped in by associating with them. With all these break-ins, kidnappings, and now murders, there was no telling if Manny was on some special list.

On the other hand, telling him may have done more harm than good. According to Olivia, the only reason he still drew breath from this earth was that he sold them weapons a week ago. It was only a matter of time before a Laborer realized that some mobsters had the same exact weapons as the SLZ. If Manny was aware that he was in some hot water, the zealous hyena may have done something rash in response, getting them both killed.

Did Sergio's involvement send Manny up a creek? It was too early to tell. He'd still keep quiet for now.

Sergio stood perched on an office building across from the warehouse near 1:30 a.m., making sure he wouldn't miss when the SLZ would come by. The city lights shone through the dark atmosphere, a contrast to the dark intentions to be acted upon very soon.

The tabby could see why this location was chosen; unlike other streets in Zootopia, the road was pretty clear, save for a few sparsely parked cars. Assuming the SLZ would come by car, there was nothing impeding their entry into the vicinity and lighting things up, no witnesses to testify against them. Of course, if there _were_ any witnesses, they'd probably get it, too.

His ear twitched when he heard a vehicle pull up to the scene. Actually, vehicle **s**. A convoy of black SUVs pulled up to the scene, driving in a rather organized manner. They parked single file on the side of the road closest to the warehouse.

Twelve doors opened at nearly the same time, mammals dressed in all black exiting the vehicles, all armed with suppressed pistols. The Laborers quickly spread out, entering the warehouse from various locations. They shot the locks off the door and rushed inside, guns trained on any potential targets.

Even though he entered the scene to eliminate his competition, Sergio made sure to wear a mask and shades to cover his distinguishing marks. The Laborers at the scene wore no masks, however. _Y'all pull_ one _major heist and y'all think y'all dope. Once y'all bodies get ID'd, it's ova._

Sergio took to a telephone wire going across the street, leading to the rooftop of a building adjacent to the warehouse. He eyed three Laborers who entered the establishment from the left side. As soon as they barged in, Sergio leaped down from the building and followed them inside.

The Laborers had a bit of an advantage because they didn't need to be as stealthy as Sergio. While they ran in heavy-footed, Sergio lightly trotted on his toes to keep from being detected. It would take a while for him to catch up to them.

As soon as he entered, Sergio swept his gun across the room. His view of the entire space was obstructed by several shelves holding miscellaneous objects. The area was brightly lit by overhead lights, and the warehouse was arranged in several aisles.

His right ear twitched from the sound of the pitter-patter of furry feet on the hard cement floor, followed by suppressed semi-automatic gunfire and a deep voice yelping in pain. _Mobsta down._

He followed the sound of gunfire, sneaking from shelf to shelf. More sounds of conflict arose throughout the warehouse. While in cover, Sergio peeked his head out, weapon in hand. The three mammals he followed were present, spreading out and attacking separate mobsters. One Laborer shot down a mobster riding a forklift, the polar bear falling a few feet from the impact.

He made his move. He snuck from behind the shelf and towards the nearest Laborer, a weasel slightly taller than him. He seized the weasel's neck with both arms, one hand over his mouth. He unsheathed his claws in the other hand and sliced the weasel's throat, not allowing his victim to make a sound before his body even turned cold.

Sergio dropped the weasel to the ground, stashed the Laborer's gun in his jacket, and looked to his right, where the two other Laborers he followed were advancing through the middle aisle, splitting up to the shelves on the sides of the aisle.

Isolation would be their downfall.

After checking his six, Sergio ran towards the shelves on the right. He could see a lioness tussling with a polar bear, fighting for control of a suppressed pistol. The tabby ended up behind the lioness, witnessing her slip the gun away from the bear's grasp and pistol whipping her opponent in the temple. While the bear was stunned, the lioness executed him with a straight shot to the dome.

The lioness pressed the magazine release to reload her weapon. As soon as she looked down to retrieve another magazine, she saw a small mammal dressed in black slide between her legs on his back. The last thing she saw in this brief moment of surprise was a .45 bullet spiraling towards her skull.

Sergio rolled over as the dead lioness collapsed, getting on all fours to crawl under the shelf. It would be a short while before the Laborer's body was found, and the element of surprise would be reduced. He could try to break even in the surprise factor by hiding.

After a final yell, there was eerie silence. The Laborers had finished their jobs a lot earlier than anticipated. Sergio's left ear twitched as someone yelled, "I've found a body! Keep on your guard!" The sound's distance indicated that the weasel's body was found first.

Sergio stayed somewhat close to the lioness's body and climbed up the shelf on the other side, standing near the top. He used the wooden boxes as cover from any prying eyes on the opposite side. He hung from a shelf row, gun in hand.

A Laborer came around a shelf corner and saw the lioness, about to alarm the other Laborers. Sergio peeked up from his box cover and aimed at the bobcat's face. _THWIT!_ Three down.

The bobcat didn't come alone, with another mammal taking cover behind the corner after witnessing the bobcat's death. Sergio ducked his head when an otter fired at him, the bullet hitting the box above his head.

"I found him!" the otter called out. Sergio cursed in his mind as the otter fired more silent shots at him, hearing the wood splinter as the bullets lodged themselves in the contents.

Sergio quickly assessed the situation. There was a shelf in between him and the otter, and the rest of the cavalry was closing in. He needed to act fast.

 _If it ain't broke..._

Sergio dropped to the ground and quietly ran to the end of the shelf. He dived to his left and aimed at the otter, who was still aiming at Sergio's last known position at the top of the shelf. While in midair, Sergio fired three shots at the otter, two stopped by a bulletproof vest, one piercing the otter's eye.

The tabby had no time to rest as more Laborers were approaching. In the aisle from which he just dived came a tall enemy. Sergio rolled away just when the Laborer shot, feeling the bullet whiz by his tail. He took cover perpendicular to his approaching enemy.

Sergio then went prone to fire a shot at the tiger's foot, hitting a toe. With an oath, the tiger crouched and fired below the shelf. The tabby bounded up five feet to grasp onto the shelf, pulling himself up further a few feet. When the tiger looked up, he saw the airborne tabby performing a horizontal roll, aiming a gun at him before meeting the Grim Reaper.

The top of the shelf had some tall boxes to conceal the tabby to an extent. Sergio bobbed and weaved across the top row as Laborers shot at him. He aimed to his right and killed two Laborers side by side on the floor with two bullets before jumping down to the right of the shelf, rolling forward as he landed on the ground.

Five Laborers left, and four bullets left in the magazine. No sweat.

However, the remaining Laborers made the smartest decision in the entire night; they retreated through several exits before they, too, would get picked off by the short, fire-orange thunderball. By the time Sergio could react, the last of them escaped, speeding off in their cars.

The tabby collected as much spare ammunition as he could, time being of the essence. Surely a civilian heard the scuffle and called the police to the area. The otter had used a fingerprint lock on his phone, the tabby taking advantage of this before leaving the scene.

As Sergio made his way back home, he considered the engagement. The majority of Laborers at the scene were killed, yet a large minority of them left with their lives. All of the mobsters there were dead. It would have been ideal for Sergio to have been the last mammal standing to ensure that no loose ends would be established.

Nevertheless, Sergio's ultimate goal was to impede the Laborers' progress. Mission accomplished. They certainly had improved since his tenure with them, but they proved to be easily manageable. If the Laborers wanted a war, Sergio would prove to be as effective as many and as silent as none.

. . .

 **Later...**

The morning after all of that happened, Nick was poring over police files at the precinct, prioritizing the random crimes happening in small businesses throughout the city. He tried desperately to connect details from any two cases together, but there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to them. The perpetrators were unknown, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it was the same group that robbed the bank.

Whatever this group was, it was spooky. At least with the mob, most people knew that it existed and had a bit of an idea as to how they operated. This widespread knowledge strangely made them less scary to an extent.

But the group that robbed the bank seemed to be a new development. They shot up two gangsters to throw the police off the trail as they wiped the bank clean. They hit several stores, some during normal business hours. Worst of all, they nearly killed Judy. And yet nobody knew who they were as of yet. No group Nick knew operated in the shadows this much.

He looked over traffic camera footage for all the places that were hit, but he had found nothing. Even if cameras were perfectly situated to see everyone who went in and out of most of the stores, there was nothing that stood out. During the time of the crimes, in-store footage somehow came up missing.

His feet were more or less healed now; only a small sting bothered him as he walked around. He felt that he was ready to chase after more bank robbers and get a direct lead.

Just when he thought that looking up records would be futile, he heard some heavy footsteps coming to his position. He looked back and saw a tall polar bear looking him in the eyes. A small smirk stretched across his face.

"You're riding with me today, Wilde," said Grizzoli, cocking his head toward the precinct's exit.

The incident near Fang Street had put him in a pessimistic mood all week, and the lack of results from investigating police records _combined_ with a bit of cabin fever didn't help things. After hearing the news just now, he practically bounced from his seat and followed Grizzoli to his cruiser. "Best news I've heard all day."

"Not when you hear what we're investigating. Several murders occurred last night, and they have a very specific link."

"Okay," Nick said, raising an eye at Grizzoli's vagueness. "What's the link?"

The polar bear shook his head, a stern expression on his face. Nick understood the gesture to mean, "Not here." None of them said anything more until they entered Grizzoli's cruiser.

As soon as Nick's door slammed shut, Grizzoli explained as he turned the cruiser on, "They are linked by Mr. Big's mob."

"What? Who?"

"Two couples, the Burtons in Sahara Square, and the Ottertons in the Rainforest District." Grizzoli pulled out from the lot.

Nick frowned, looking out into the road. He knew that Emmitt Otterton was Mr. Big's florist, and apart from the drug-induced attack on Manchas during the Night Howler case, he didn't have the capacity to hurt anyone, despite being a predator. There was no reason for him to get caught in the crossfire unless someone wanted to eliminate Mr. Big's allies, in the loosest sense of the term.

The fox concluded that it was the start of a gang war. He hoped that no other civilians would die during future skirmishes, although he knew that it would be the case with a scope as big as this.

"What do the Burtons have to do with the mob?" Nick asked.

"The casino they run is closely linked to it. Reese needed a favor five years ago when his house was put into mortgage. Mr. Big saw potential in the casino and anonymously loaned him the cash he needed. Once it picked back up again, Mr. Big identified himself and offered a deal. If Reese paid back the loan and promised to stay loyal to the family, the mob would make sure that the only casino standing in Zootopia would be the Easy Ten. Reese agreed, and the rest is history."

Nick nodded. "It's starting to make sense now, but why were you holding out on all of this in the precinct?"

"Because Fangmeyer is onto me," Grizzoli answered as he stopped at a light, clenching his jaw. "Ever since we started working together, she's been on my case, trying to figure out whether or not _I_ work with the mob. If I showed that I knew this much about it, it would make her more suspicious."

"What, just because you're a polar bear? Come on, Grizz," Nick said with a chuckle, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet on the dashboard. "You can't be afraid of some half-baked accusations."

"The thing is, it's true," Grizzoli admitted solemnly. He sighed, gripping the wheel more firmly. "Wilde, ever since I was born into the Family, I was expected to put on a suit and continue the family tradition. Papà tried to paint it like it was an honor to be a part of the operation, but I saw it as nothing more than being another pawn in a criminal empire. I appreciate what Papà did for my family - my _real_ family - but what he did for a living was not for me."

Nick didn't foresee this heart-to-heart with a fellow officer, but it wasn't exactly unwelcome, either. He remained silent, taking in all that was said.

"I was kind of a rebel back then, like now. I decided to do the opposite of what my family did. Instead of a suit, I put on a uniform. Instead of a Beretta, I carry a Glock. I wanted to help people 'cause I've seen what the scum of Zootopia does firsthand."

"So, how were you able to get to the police academy alive, since you turned your back on the Family?"

"As soon as I first got a law book, my older brothers brought me to Mr. Big. By joining the ZPD, I would be betraying the Family, at least in their eyes. Koslov was about to 'ice' me when Mr. Big suddenly had a change of heart. He wanted me to swear to keep the Family's honor, to look the other way when the mob did their thing. He saw me as an advantage because, if I was a first responder to a mob crime, I could be better able to divert attention away from the Family.

"I never verbally agreed to it. I never needed to. Nobody says no to the mob. But somehow, Mr. Big called off the rest of his guys, and I was able to continue training like nothing happened.

"And now I'm here, trying hopelessly to stop the mob that my family's in. If I admit to being part of the Family, even without being part of it, I'll either die, or I'll betray those I love by getting them arrested. Sure, it'd be justice if the second thing happened, but they're still family in the end. I can't just let that happen, you know?"

"This really...puts things into perspective, Grizzoli, but why are you telling me all of this?" Nick questioned.

"We'll be working together for a while, so I wanted you to know this in case anything happened. Plus, I've kept that from everyone else in the department. I needed to get that off my chest, and I knew _you_ would understand because of your past."

The fox then thought of how Judy would have reacted. Sure, the bunny took a good-sized bullet to the chest, but she would have felt that Grizzoli had a much worse situation than she did. The pain from a bullet wound was temporary, but the pressure of keeping the job you love while keeping away from the mob would stay as long as you lived. Nick felt fortunate that _he_ was able to leave the criminal life rather cleanly, unlike his new partner.

After considering this, Nick was better able to focus on the case at hand, rather than moping about his decision to go to the east side and nearly getting Judy killed.

* * *

 **Finally gave the tabby a name, as well as a dash of backstory for him.**

 **I did _not_ expect myself to go crazy with Grizzoli's backstory, but once I got going, it was difficult for me to stop. Hope it turns out well.**

 **While it feels as though the police is at a standstill, Sergio has gotten the ball rolling. With an unlikely ally providing intel, his chances for success are greatly increased. However, what is Olivia's true purpose? Though her information was correct _this_ time, how long will it be before her information is misleading? How much damage will Sergio do before the Boss Lady catches onto Olivia's treachery? **

**How will Nick and Grizzoli's investigation pan out? What clues will they find from the crime scenes and bodies...or what's left of them? What can explain the lack of footage?**

 **Stay tuned for the next chapter of _Wait Till I Get My Money Right_!**


End file.
